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SELECT 

ESSAYS OF ADDISON 

TOGETHER WITH 

MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON ADDISON'S 
LIFE AND WRITINGS 



EDITED BY 

SAMUEL THURBER 



V >APR 26 Igg 
Bogton 

ALLYN AND BACON 

1892 



330^ 






Copyright, 1892, 
By SAMUEL THURBER. 



Typography by J. S. Gushing & Co., Boston. 
Presswork by Berwick & Smith, Boston. 



CONTENTS. 



FAOB 

Introduction vii 

THE SPECTATOR CLUB. 

The Spectator introduces himself to the reader 1 

The Spectator Club : Sir lloger de Coverley, the Templar, Sir 
Andrew Freeport, Captain Sentry, Will Honeycomb, the 

Clero:>'man 5 

Members of the Club discuss the Spectator's papers 10 

Will Honeycomb's dislike of pedantry leads the- Spectator to mor- 
alize on this subject 14 

SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 

The Spectator's observations at Sir Roger's country-house 17 

The Coverley household : Sir Roger's treatment of his servants . . 20 
The Spectator describes AVill Wimble, whom he meets at Sir 

Roger's 22 

Sir Roger's account of his ancestors 26 

Ghosts and haunted houses 29 

Sunday in the country : Sir Roger at church 31 

Sir Roger in love 34 

Exercise the best means of preserving health : Sir Roger as a 

hunter 38 

The Spectator accompanies Sir Roger to the hunting-field 41 

The Spectator discusses witchcraft : with Sir Roger he visits 

Moll White 45 

Sir Roger at the assizes , 48 

Sir Roger tells a story of his boyhood, which leads the Spectator 

to discuss the evils of party -spirit 52 

Strictures on party-spirit continued , . . . 56 

bir Roger and the gypsies ....--..-. . 59 

iii 



iv Contents, 

PAOK 

The Spectator sees reasons why he had better return to town 61 

Sir Roger in town 63 

Sir Roger visits Westminster Abbey , 67 

Sir Roger goes to the play 71 

Sir Roger and the Spectator go by water to the Vauxhall Gardens 75 

The death of Sir Roger 78 

EDITORIAL. 

The Spectator commends his papers to sundry classes of men, and 

especially to women 80 

The Spectator imagines himself described by an antiquarian of a 

future age 84 

Large books versus pamphlets and newspapers 86 

Effect of the newly-imposed stamp duty on periodical publica- 
tions. The Spectator defends his non-partisan course 89 

The Spectator defends the raised price 92 

Precedence in literature 95 

THE STAGE. 

Signor Nicolini and his lions 97 

Artifices of the dramatic poets 101 

The trunk-maker at the theatre 104 

Stage properties : dramatic critics 108 

\ MANNERS. 

Tom Folio Ill 

Ned Softly 114 

Over-crowding of the learned professions 118 

\ On party patches 122 

On country manners 126 

The same subject 128 

On pin money 131 

The false rumor 134 

A friend of mankind brought to grief by an alchemist 138 

POLITICS. 

The vision of public credit 141 

The Royal Exchange 145 

The Tory fox-hunter ."...". ... 149 



Contents. V 

TALES. 

PAGE 

Marraton and Yaratilda 154 

The vision of Mirzah 158 

The golden scales 163 

Frozen words 167 

Hilpa and Shalum 171 

The sequel of the story of Hilpa and Shalum 174 

VARIA. 

Thoughts in Westminster Abbey 177 

Transmigrations of Pugg the monkey 180 

Eagerness for news ridiculed 184 

MORALS AND RELIGION. 

Omens 187 

Ghost stories 190 

Against the authors of libels and lampoons 193 

A cheerful piety recommended 197 

The folly of discontent with one's own lot 200 

The Tatler explains whom he means by the expression ' ' dead 

men " 206 

The same subject continued 209 

On immortality 213 

Contemplation of the divine perfections suggested by the sky at 

night 216 

HYMNS. 

Trust in God 220 

Providence 221 

The confirmation of faith 223 

Thanksgiving after travel 224 

A thought in sickness 226 

Macaulay's Essay on the Life and Writings of Addison . . 227 

Notes to the Select Essays of Addison 303 

Notes to Macaulay's Essay on Addison 311 



INTRODUCTION 



It is coming to be understood that the object of edu- 
cation is rather the attainment of power tlian the acqui- 
sition of knowledge. To know either many things or 
very much about any one thing is less important than 
to know how to do things. The recognition of this 
principle is transforming methods of teaching in all 
departments. Research is the new watchword. Once 
regarded as the special function of the most advanced 
students, research is now seen to be the proper activity 
even of children in the lower grades. The elation of 
discovery is the best stimulus for minds of all classes 
and at all stages. 

Ho;^v to apply the principles of research to the teach- 
ing of literature is now the main problem to be solved 
in the department of English. Once it was the custom 
to give students of literature books to learn about 
authors. Then the manuals and histories of literature 
were displaced, and the masterpieces themselves were 
introduced into the schools, to be read and expounded in 
recitation. The ancient practice of annotating Latin and 
Greek texts for school use was allowed to set the example 
for books in the mother tongue, and these too appeared, 
and are still wont to appear, with explanations and defini- 
tions to facilitate the getting of lessons. 



viii Introduction, 

At the present moment the teaching of literature may 
be said to have developed to the point when question 
and answer, problem and solution, obscurity and elucida- 
tion, are simultaneously thrust upon the learner's atten- 
tion, in order that he may for not one conscious moment 
entertain the feeling of curiosity and interest, that he 
may be saved all need of exploration, that he may be 
excused from independent thinking and have merely to 
bend over his book and learn his lesson. Such is the 
note stage thus far reached in the evolution of literature 
teaching. 

In order that our condition may not become one of 
arrested development, teachers must accept cordially and 
without misgiving the idea that the making of notes is 
precisely the business of the student himself, and that 
he cannot be denied this exercise without suffering ir- 
reparable loss. Youthful curiosity at length becomes 
atrophied if left unemployed. The work of research 
that the maker of notes has to undertake is too pleasant 
and stimulating to be withheld from the learner. For 
the teacher to explain everything in advance, or to allow 
notes to explain it in advance, and then to expect of the 
class only to say back what has just been said to them, 
is to reduce teaching to the lowest depths of imbecility. 

I have always found that pupils like to be given some- 
thing to do. They like to be set at work to find out 
things not obvious at a glance. They like to conquer 
difficulties. They like the adventure of searching a 
library for a hidden reference. What a note gives them 
they accept without emotion, — almost without con- 
sciousness, — such long years have they spent already 
over the books and paper in their desks. For further 



Introduction. ix 

burrowing in that petty area it is no longer possible to 
rouse their zeal. They are old enough to go hunting in 
larger fields. High school youth are in the note-making 
period of mental growth. They should annotate their 
own texts, and should be taught to scorn silly offerings 
of lielp. They too can handle dictionaries and encyclo- 
paedias, tease librarians, rummage in histories and biog- 
raphies : and this is all that the note-maker can do for 
them. 

Having found the presence of a mass of explanatory 
notes an obstacle to my endeavor to interest m}^ pupils 
in their English reading, I have essayed to suggest a 
better method of procedure by preparing texts in such 
a manner as rather to call for research than to make 
research needless by giving its results. A note that 
tells at once what is wanted forestalls the teacher. I 
would co-operate Avith the teacher by aiding him to set 
the pupils at work. Accordingly I have offered no 
notes whatever on passages easily explained by reference 
to dictionaries and encyclopsedias, except perchance to 
give a warning that such research should not be omitted. 
Only when I have found the Avay of research a little 
dark or crooked have I hinted at the path to be pursued. 
The " notes " in this volume, therefore, are distinctly 
meant to send the learner away from the little books in 
his little desk to the larger and more abundant books of 
the school librar}^, and to the public and other libraries 
to which he may have access. I have myself found it a 
joy to conquer these small difficulties : this joy I would 
share with ni}^ pupils. 

For the general reader an English text may be fur- 
nished with any amount of labor-saving apparatus. The 



X Intro ductio7i. 

general reader wants to luxuriate in his reading and not 
be constantly sent to books of reference. To him it is 
intolerably tedious to be obliged to make work of his 
reading. But the pupil in school is the very antithesis 
of the general reader. The pupil will not read to while 
away his time, but to learn how to investigate ; he is 
not to court his ease at his tasks, but to whet his curios- 
ity and give it free range ; he is not so enamoured of his 
school desk and his long hours at it but he will be at 
least willing to rise and try new postures and new mus- 
cles. Pedagogic annotation, therefore, shoukl not be 
directed toward the saving of labor : much rather should 
it be full of exhortations and promptings to labor. This 
point, dear learner, you do not understand ; but the way 
to attain an understanding of it is a pleasant one ; here 
are a few directions to enable you to make a start. In 
this spirit, I conceive, should English texts for schools 
be annotated. 

Intelligent reading implies the use of certain literary 
apparatus, access to which is possible to almost every 
member of an American community. The function of 
the school, with regard to this apparatus, is to show its 
value and to train in the methods of putting it to use. 
High schools should graduate their pupils expert in the 
handling of dictionaries and encyclopaedias, quick to 
surmise which way to turn to find information about 
men and things. To make the little text-book self- 
sufficing is to make it false to the facts of real life, for 
the real books of the world are bound together by infi- 
nite links of mutual explanation, and ever}^ book of value 
must be read with reference to other books. Pupils are 
to be trained in the art of literary exploration. They 



Introduction. xi 

are to be trained to the habit of satisfying their curios- 
ity. The youth who is capable of curiosity, and who 
knows how to proceed to find the thing he wants, has 
one of the best gifts that the school course in literature 
can bestow upon him. The youth who read his English 
in books where notes told him what he wanted before 
he knew that he wanted it, is left in the lurch when he 
comes to read the books that imply knowledge or skill 
in finding knowledge. 

No self-respecting teacher will accept a text-book that 
presupposes his own ignorance or his utter lack of oppor- 
tunity to communicate his knowledge. We are very 
much engrossed with our work, of course, and have not 
much time for extraneous matters : but explaining diffi- 
culties, so far from being a business extraneous to our 
duty, is its very heart and soul. First of all things, the 
teacher is presumed to know his subject. If he teaches 
literature, he claims to know how to teach literature, to 
be at home in the literary field. A generation of teach- 
ers bred on explanatory notes undergoes paralysis of the 
teaching faculty, and sinks into inane dependence on 
adventitious aids. For their own culture, as well as for 
their control of wise methods, teachers of English need 
to qualify themselves to be their own expositors of texts. 
The literature of the mother tongue herein differs from 
that in the ancient languages. We may grant that clas- 
sic philology is too recondite for secondary teachers to 
master. Teachers of Latin and Greek may cleave to 
their notes. But English philology is near to our 
homes and lies patent to the seeker of average indus- 
try and acumen. To treat English literature as if it 
lay the other side of the middle ages is to commit the 
absurdest mistake of modern scholastic methods. 



xii Introduction. 

The notes appended to this selection from the writ- 
ings of Addison and Macaulay are therefore not explan- 
atory. They will be found to be rather queries than 
answers to queries. They have grown out of my own 
experience in reading this very matter with high school 
classes. My way of procedure is this. 

As soon as a point appears that evidently needs elu- 
cidation, I assign it to a particular pupil for I'esearch. 
If this research threatens to lead the pupil into a maze 
so hopeless as to cause discouragement and waste of 
time, I give hints more or less broad as to the course to 
be pursued. Pupils will search long and eagerly for 
the thing they want ; but they have other studies, and 
their limitations must be respected. Hence they usually 
need help. But they take infinite pleasure in finding 
the object of their quest and in reporting their successes. 
At each recitation a few pupils are ready with their 
reports. Meanwhile they have been in the various 
libraries of the city, calling for books, searching indexes, 
taking notes. In short, they have been ardently at 
work studying literature. They have been in contact 
with books, and have learned to appreciate somewhat 
the interrelationship of the members of the great literary 
family. Often they make independent discoveries, and 
report the most interesting and amusing facts, more or 
less germane to the strict object of their commission. 

Whatever historical knowledge pupils have acquired 
comes of course directly into play in this work of literary 
research. History and literature go hand in hand. 
Books of history and biography are oftenest the ones to 
which students of literature must resort. The past 
begins to open only to the student who explores many 



Introduction. xiii 

sources and sees things from many sides. The world 
being full of books, it is pedagogic high treason to 
act as if the text-book contained the whole canon of 
knowledge. 

In culling the Addisonian specimens included in this 
volume I have had distinctly in view a juvenile public. 
To compile a good book for pupils to read either in public 
or in private, was the first consideration. Secondarily, 
I have endeavored to represent fairly the wonderful 
diversity of Addison's themes, illustrating with careful 
selection each of the more conspicuous classes into 
which the essays may be grouped. 

The De Coverley papers I have placed together in 
the order of their appearance ; and that this series may 
lack no important member, I have included in it the 
contributions of Steele and Budgell. The pupil will 
take pleasure in comparing these papers with Addison's 
to see if he can detect any difference in the styles of the 
three writers. 

The remaining essays in this collection have been 
selected from Addison's work in the Spectator, the 
Tatler, the Guardian, and the Freeholder. Following 
the example of Arnold and other editors, I have given 
to these selections a slight grouping, though without 
making such grouping conspicuous to the eye. It 
appears sufficiently in the table of contents. Under the 
rubrics, Editorial, The Stage, Manners, Politics, Tales, 
Varia, Morals and Religion, Hymns, I have brought 
together forty-five of the more famous papers. The 
only distinct class of essays of which I have admitted 
no representative is that of formal criticism. Writing 



xiv Introduction. 

of this kind is but little apt to prove stimulating to 
youth. 

An ideal selection from Addison's prose writings 
would of course be a perfect miniature, omitting no 
feature of the original. Some features of the original 
should, however, be omitted from an edition intended 
to be read and worked over in school. Generally, I 
may say, I have allowed my selection to give an impres- 
sion of more gravity and seriousness than one brings 
from the reading of any undivided portion of Addison's 
papers. The whims, fashions, frivolities of the day, that 
were duly discussed in the Addisonian periodicals, 
remain to us still amusing and historically important. 
That which was light in its day is light still ; but it 
inevitably comes to pass that whatever is undertaken 
in the class-room has to be dwelt upon more or less, and 
a clear congruit}^ between the content of a passage and 
the labor given to the mastery of its meaning recom- 
mends the work to the juvenile sense of propriety and 
proportion. 

It has not seemed to me important to give all the 
chosen papers absolutely entire. In no sense are these 
essays artistic wholes, possessing a structure that is 
ruined by the excision of the least portion. I wished to 
compress into a small compass a considerable variety of 
specimens. Lightness, readableness, cleanness, I deemed 
to be the true principles to govern my editing. 

Macaulay's essay on the Life and Writings of Addi- 
son I have also shortened, without, however, mutilating 
it as a biography. For school use Macaulay's essay is 
rather long and rather overloaded with historical erudi- 
tion. Young readers can work out most of it with the 



Introduction. xv 

teacher's help, but parts of it require more collateral 
reading than such readers can profitably undertake. I 
have shortened this essay, therefore, by about a fifth. 
Only persons familiar with Macaulay Avill miss this 
fifth. To the pupil the essay will not be found to lack 
consecutiveness and clearness. 

While working at this limited selection from Addison's 
writings, the class will have frequent occasion to con- 
sult the writer's complete works. A complete Addison 
and a complete Spectator and Tatler should lie on the 
table for easy reference during the time devoted to this 
period of literature. Two good editions of Addison's 
works are accessible, — the edition of Bishop Hurd, en- 
larged by Henry G. Bohn, published, in six volumes, in 
the Bohn Standard Library ; and the edition, also in six 
volumes, of Professor George Washington Greene, pub- 
lished by J. B. Lippincott and Co. 

The Spectator can be had in numerous shapes. 
Chiefly to be recommended is the edition of Professor 
Henry Morley, published, in three volumes, by George 
Routledge and Sons. This edition has notes and an 
index. The Spectator, Tatler, and Guardian are in- 
cluded in the series of British Essayists, edited by A. 
Chalmers. 

Books and articles bearing directly on Addison and 
Steele and their writings will be found in endless pro- 
fusion. Macaulay 's essay is here presented. The Life 
of Addison by Miss Aikin, which Macaulay criticises, is 
republished in this country and may easily be looked up 
in the libraries. Still more accessible is Mr, Courthope's 
Addison, in the English Men of Letters series. Li 1889 
appeared the Life of Richard Steele by George A. Ait- 



xvi Introduction. 

ken. This handsome book, in two octavo volumes, will 
be found extremely valuable for frequent reference. It 
contains interesting portraits. Much smaller is Austin 
Dobson's Steele, in the English Worthies series. A 
book not yet quite superseded by all the literary re- 
searches of nearly three generations is Nathan Drake's 
Essays, biographical, critical, and historical, illustrative 
of the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, London, 1805. 
The book entitled Addisoniana, published in two small 
volumes in 1803, will be found worth looking up. It 
contains a curious portrait of " Mr. Addison at But- 
ton's." With a little enterprise pupils will hunt up 
many portraits of Addison. 

On the manners and customs of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, the student will find useful and interesting, either 
for consultation or for continuous reading, England and 
the English in the Eighteenth Century, by William 
Connor Sydney, Macmillan and Co., 1891. Still more 
interesting, by reason of its numerous illustrations, is 
Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, by John Ash- 
ton, Chatto and Windus, 1882. 

On the general history of Addison's times the reader 
will naturally refer to Macaulay, so far as Macaulay's 
History extends, and should learn to refer to the index 
to the Essays even for eighteenth century matters not 
reached by the History. Charles Knight's Popular His- 
tory of England is a book that every high school should 
possess. Its pictures and its frequent reference to social 
and literary matters make it a work of supreme interest 
to youth. Works so large as Lecky's History of Eng- 
land in the Eighteenth Century, Burton's History of 
the Reign of Queen Anne, Wyon's History of Great 



Introduction. xvii 

Britain during the Reign of Queen Anne, and Lord 
Mahon's three works on eighteenth century periods, 
while too formidable for high school pupils to think of 
reading as wholes, are not too large for consultation in 
the investigation of special subjects. The War of the 
Spanish Succession is treated on a scale suitable for high 
school digestion in G. W. Kitchin's History of France. 
A most excellent book, both for reading and for handy 
reference on all topics of English history, is Sam- 
uel Rawson Gardiner's Student's History of England. 
Every high school should have this work. The notes 
in this volume refer to it constantly. 

Merely verbal difficulties in texts no older than Addi- 
son's writings are usually explained by the larger dic- 
tionaries. When all the common dictionaries fail, then 
the Century should be tried. It is a great blessing to 
a school to possess the Century. The possibilities of 
profit from a course of English study are doubled 
when such a book lies accessible for easy reference. 

S. T. 

April 4, 1892. 



xviii Introduction. 



DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON ON ADDISON. 

As a describe!' of life and manners Addison must be allowed to 
stand perhaps the first of the first rank. His humor, which, as 
Steele observes, is peculiar to himself, is so happily diffused as to 
give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes and daily occurrences. 
He never "o'ersteps the modesty of nature," nor raises merriment 
or wonder by the violation of truth. His figures neither divert by 
distortion nor amaze by aggravation. He copies life with so much 
fidelity that he can be hardly said to invent ; yet his exhibitions 
have an air so original that it is difficult to suppose them not 
merely the product of imagination. 

As a teacher of wisdom he may be confidently followed. His 
religion has nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious ; he appears 
neither weakly credulous nor wantonly sceptical ; his morality is 
neither dangerously lax nor impracticably rigid. All the enchant- 
ment of fancy and all the cogency of argument are employed to 
recommend to the reader his real interest, the care of pleasing the 
Author of his being. Truth is shown sometimes as the phantom 
of a vision ; sometimes appears half-veiled in an allegory ; some- 
times attracts regard in the robes of fancy ; and sometimes steps 
forth in the confidence of reason. She wears a thousand dresses, 
and in all is pleasing. 

" Mille habet ornatus, mille clecenter liabet." 

His prose is tne model of the middle style ; on grave subjects not 
formal, on light occasions not grovelling; pure without scrupu- 
losity, and exact without apparent elaboration ; always equable 
and always easy, without glowing words and pointed sentences. 
Addison never deviates from his track to snatch a grace ; he seeks 
no ambitious ornaments and tries no hazardous innovations. His 
page is always luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendor. 
It was apparently his principal endeavor to avoid all harshness 
and severity of diction ; he is therefore sometimes verbose in his 



Introduction. 



XIX 



transitions and connections, and sometimes descends too much to 
the language of conversation ; yet if his language had been less 
idiomatical it might have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. 
What he attempted he performed ; he is not feeble, and he did not 
wish to be energetic; he is never rapid and he never stagnates. 
His sentences have neither studied amplitude nor affected brevity; 
his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. 
AVhoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, 
and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to 
the volumes of Addison. 



From TAIXE'S HISTOIRE BE LA LITTERATURE 
ANGLAISE. 

Que d'art il faiit pour plaire ! D'abord I'art de se faire entendre, 
du premier coup, toujours, jusqu'au fond, sans peine pour le lecteur, 
sans reflexion, sans attention ! Figurez-vous des hommes du monde 
qui hsent une page entre deux bouchees de gateaux, des dames qui 
mterrompent une phrase pour demander I'heure du bal: trois mots 
speciaux ou savants leur feraient Jeter le journal. lis ne veulent 
que des termes clairs, de I'usage commun, ou I'esprit entre de 
primesaut comme dans les sentiers de la causerie ordinaire; en 
effet, pour eux, la lecture n'est qu'une causerie et meilleure que 
I'autre. Car le monde choisi raffine le langage. II ne souffre point 
les hasards ni les a-peu-pres de I'improvisation et de I'inexperience. 
II exige la science du style comme la science des famous. II veut 
des mots exacts qui expriment les fines nuances de la pensee, et des 
mots mesures qui ecartent les impressions choquantes ou extremes. 
II souhaite des phrases developpees qui, lui presentant la meme 
idee sous plusieurs faces, I'impriment aisement dans son esprit 
distrait. II demande des alliances de mots qui, presentant une idee 
comme sous une forme piquante, I'enfoncent vivement dans son 
imagination distraite. Addison lui donne tout ce qu'il desire; ses 
ecrits sont la pure source du style classique; jamais en Angleterre 
on n'a parle de meilleur ton. Les ornements y abondent, et jamais 
la rhetorique n'y a part. Partout de justes oppositions qui ne 
servent qu'a la clarte et ne sont point trop prolongees; d^heureuses 
expressions aisement trouvees qui donnent aux choses un tour 



XX 



Introduction. 



ingenieux et nouveau ; des periodes harmonieuses oil les sons 
couleiit les uns dans les autres avec la diversite et la douceur 
d'un ruisseau calme ; une veine feconde d'inventions et d'iniages 
oil luit la plus aimable ironie. 



From BELJAME'S LE PUBLIC ET LES HOMMES DE 
LETTRES EN ANGLETERRE AU XVI W^^ SINGLE. 

Representez-vous un homme du monde, poll sans recherche, 
grave sans raideur, mstruit sans pedantisme, aimant et goutant les 
plaisirs de Fesprit, avec cela chretien, chvetien convaincu, mais ni 
rigide, ni bigot, ni intolerant, et de sa religion pratiquant surtout 
la charite ; figurez-vous cet homme causant dans une societe de 
gens distingues et cultives, et leur communiquant, selon les hasards 
de la conversation, ses idees sur toutes les questions que peut agiter 
une reunion pareille, sur la litterature, sur les amusements ou les 
moeurs du jour, quelquefois sur des questions plus hautes touchant 
aux grands interets de cette vie ou de I'autre ; dans ces causeries 
variees de sujets et de ton, il est aimable, spirituel, interessant 
toujours, souvent eleve, mais jamais il ne prend le langage dog- 
matique et sentencieux; il se garde discretement des longs devel- 
oppements monotones sur le meme theme, car il est k ses yeux de 
mauvais gout et de mauvaise politique d'ennuyer ses auditeurs ; 
ennemi de toute exageration, il n'emploie ni les grandes phrases, 
ni les grands gestes ; il lone plus volontiers qu'il ne blame, et s'il 
est force de blamer, il ne se laisse pas aller aux paroles blessantes, 
auxquelles son savoir-vivre repugne autant que sa religion ; il 
indique son blame par un mot grave et calme, plus souvent par une 
intonation ironique, par un clignement de I'oeil, par un plissement 
de la levre. Jamais sa conversation n'a le caractere apprete et 
raide d'un enseignement, et cependant elle instruit, et Ton n'aura 
pas vecu dans le commerce de son esprit sans en retirer, en meme 
temps que le plaisir le plus delicat, le plus serieux profit intellectuel 
et moral. Tels sont les essais d'Addison: ce sont les causeries 
attrayantes d'un homme du monde chez qui I'esprit est eleve par 
le savoir et la raison, et tempeie par la bonte. 



SELECT ESSAYS OP ADDISON. 



jj«<< 



Spectator No. i. Thursday, March 1, 1711: — The Spectator 
introduces himself to the reader. 

I HAVE observed that a reader seldom peruses a book 
with pleasure, until he knows whether the writer of it be 
a black or a fair man, of a mild or choleric disposition, 
married or a bachelor, with other particulars of the like 
nature, that conduce very much to the right understanding 
of an author. To gratify this curiosity, which is so natural 
to a reader, I design this paper, and my next, as prefatory 
discourses to my following writings, and shall give some 
account in them of the several persons that are engaged in 
this work. As the chief trouble of compiling, digesting, 
and correcting, will fall to my share, I must do myself the 
justice to open the work with my own history. 

I was born to a small hereditary estate, which, according 
to the tradition of the village where it lies, was bounded 
by the same hedges and ditches in William the Conqueror's 
time that it is at present, and has been delivered down 
from father to son whole and entire, without the loss or 
acquisition of a single field or meadow, during the space of 
six hundred years. There runs a story in the family, that 
my mother dreamed that her child was destined to be a 
judge : whether this might proceed from a law-suit which 

1 



2 Select Essays of Addison. 

was then depending in the family, or my father's being a 
justice of the peace, I cannot determine ; for I am not so 
vain as to think it presaged any dignity that I should 
arrive at in my future life, though that was the interpreta- 
tion which the neighborhood put upon it. The gravity of 
my behavior at my very first appearance in the world 
seemed to favor my mother's dream : for as she has often 
told me, I threw away my rattle before I was two months 
old, and would not make use of my coral until they had 
taken away the bells from it. 

As for the rest of my infancy, there being nothing in it 
remarkable, I shall pass it over in silence. I find, that, 
during my nonage, I had the reputation of a very sullen 
youth, but was always a favorite of my schoolmaster, who 
used to say, that my parts were solid, and would wear 
well. I had not been long at the university, before I dis- 
tinguished myself by a most profound silence ; for, during 
the space of eight years, excepting in the public exercises 
of the college, I scarce uttered the quantity of an hundred 
words; and indeed do not remember that I ever spoke 
three sentences together in my whole life. Whilst I was 
in this learned body, I applied myself with so much dili- 
gence to my studies, that there are very few celebrated 
books, either in the learned or the modern tongues, which 
I am not acquainted with. 

Upon the death of my father, I was resolved to travel 
into foreign countries, and therefore left the university, 
with the character of an odd unaccountable fellow, that 
had a great deal of learning, if I would but show it. An 
insatiable thirst after knowledge carried me into all the 
countries of Europe, in which there was any thing new or 
strange to be seen ; nay, to such a degree was my curiosity 
raised, that having read the controversies of some great 
men concerning the antiquities of Egypt, I made a voyage 
to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the measure of a 



The Spectator Introduces Himself. 3 

pyramid; and as soon as I had set myself right in that 
particular, returned to my native country with great satis- 
faction. 

I have passed my latter years in this city, where I am 
frequently seen in most public places, though there are 
not above half-a-dozen of my select friends that know me ; 
of whom my next paper shall give a more particular 
account. There is no place of general resort, wherein I 
do not often make my appearance : sometimes I am seen 
thrusting my head into a round of politicians at Will's, 
and listening with great attention to the narratives that 
are made in those little circular audiences. Sometimes I 
smoke a pipe at Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to noth- 
ing but the postman, overhear the conversation of every 
table in the room. I appear on Sunday nights at St. James's 
coffee-house, and sometimes join the little committee of poli- 
tics in the inner room, as one who comes there to hear and 
improve. My face is likewise very well known at the Grecian, 
the Cocoa-tree, and in the theatres both of Drury Lane and 
the Hay Market. I have been taken for a merchant upon the 
exchange for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for 
a Jew in the assembly of stock-jobbers at Jonathan's : in 
short, wherever I see a cluster of people, I always mix with 
them, though I never open my lips but in my own club. 

Thus I live in the world rather as a spectator of mankind, 
than as one of the species, by which means I have made 
myself a speculative statesman, soldier, merchant, and ar- 
tisan, without ever meddling with any practical jmrt in life. 
I am very well versed in the theory of a husband or a father, 
and can discern the errors in the economy, business, and 
diversion of others, better than those who are engaged in 
them ; as standers-by discover blots, which are apt to escape 
those who are in the game. I never espoused any party with 
violence, and am resolved to observe an exact neutrality 
between the Whigs and Tories, unless I shall be forced to 



4 Select Essays of Addisoyi. 

declare myself by the hostilities of either side. In short, I 
have acted in all the parts of my life as a looker-on, which 
is the character I intend to preserve in this paper. 

I have given the reader just so much of my history and 
character, as to let him see I am not altogether unqualified 
for the business I have undertaken. As for other particulars 
in my life and adventures, I shall insert them in following 
papers, as I shall see occasion. In the mean time, when I 
consider how much I have seen, read, and heard, I begin to 
blame my own taciturnity ; and since I have neither time 
nor inclination to communicate the fulness of my heart in 
speech, I am resolved to do it in writing, and to print my- 
self out, if possible, before I die. I have been often told by 
my friends, that it is a pity so many useful discoveries which 
I have made should be in the possession of a silent man. 
For this reason therefore, I shall publish a sheet-full of 
thoughts every morning, for the benefit of my contempora- 
ries : and if I can any way contribute to the diversion or 
improvement of the country in which I live, I shall leave it, 
when I am summoned out of it, Avith the secret satisfaction 
of thinking that I have not lived in vain. 

There are three very material points which I have not 
spoken to in this paper; and which, for several important 
reasons, I must keep to myself, at least for some time ; I 
mean, an account of ray name, my age, and my lodgings. I 
must confess, I would gratify my reader in any thing that 
is reasonable ; but as for these three particulars, though I 
am sensible they might tend very much to the embellishment 
of my paper, I cannot yet come to a resolution of communi- 
cating them to the public. They would indeed draw me 
out of that obscurity which I have enjoyed for many years, 
and expose me in public places to several salutes and civili- 
ties, which have been always very disagreeable to me ; for 
the greatest pain I can suffer is the being talked to and being 
stared at. It is for this reason likewise that I keep my 



The Spectator Club. 5 

complexion and dress as veiy great secrets ; though it is not 
impossible but I may make discoveries of both in the prog- 
ress of the work I have undertaken. 

After having been thus particular upon myself, I shall in 
to-morrow's paper, give an account of those gentlemen who 
are concerned with me in this work ; for, as I have before 
intimated, a plan of it is laid and concerted, as all other 
matters of importance are, in a club. 



Spectator No. 2. The Spectator Club: Sh' Roger de Coverleij, the 
Templar, Sir Andreio Freeport, Captain Sentry, Will Honeycomb, 
the Clergyman. 

The first of our society is a gentleman of Worcestershire, 
of ancient descent, a baronet, his name Sir Eoger de Coverley. 
His great grandfather was inventor of that famous country- 
dance which is called after him. All who know that shire 
are very well acquainted with the parts and merits of Sir 
Eoger. He is a gentleman that is very singular in his be- 
havior, but his singularities proceed from his good sense, 
and are contradictions to the manners of the world, only as 
he thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this humor 
creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with sourness 
or obstinacy ; and his being unconfined to modes and forms 
makes him but the readier and more capable to please and 
oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in 
Soho Square. It is said he keeps himself a bachelor, by 
reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow 
of the next county to him. Before this disappointment. Sir 
Eoger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped 
with my Lord Eochester and Sir George Etherege, fought 
a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully 
Dawson in a public coffeehouse for calling him youngster. 
But, being ill used by the above mentioned widow, he was 



6 Select Essays of Addison. 

very serious for a year and a half ; and though, his temper 
being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless 
of himself, and never dressed afterwards. He continues to 
wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion 
at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humors, he 
tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first wore 
it. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay and 
hearty ; keeps a good house both in town and country ; a 
great lover of mankind; but there is such a mirthful cast in 
his behavior, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. His 
tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young 
women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of 
his company ; when he comes into a house, he calls the ser- 
vants by their names, and talks all the way up stairs to a 
visit. I must not omit, that Sir Eoger is a justice of the 
quorum ; that he fills the chair at a quarter-session with great 
abilities, and three months ago gained universal applause by 
explaining a passage in the game-act. 

The gentleman next in esteem and authority among us is 
another bachelor, who is a member of the Inner Temple; a 
man of great probity, wit 'and understanding ; but he has 
chosen his place of residence rather to obey the direction 
of an old humorsome father, than in pursuit of his own 
inclinations. He was placed there to study the laws of the 
land, and is the most learned of any of the house in those 
of the stage. Aristotle and Longinus are much better 
understood by him than Littleton or Coke. The father 
sends up every post questions relating to marriage-articles, 
leases and tenures, in the neighborhood ; all which questions 
he agrees with an attorney to answer and take care of in the 
lump. He is studying the passions themselves, when he 
should be inquiring into the debates among men which arise 
from them. He knows the argument of each of the orations 
of Demosthenes and Tully ; but not one case in the reports 
of our own courts. No one ever took him for a fool, but 



The Spectator Cluh. 7 

none, except his intimate friends, know he has a great deal 
of wit. This turn makes him at once both disinterested and 
agreeable ; as few of his thoughts are drawn from business, 
they are most of them fit for conversation. His taste of 
books is a little too just for the age he lives in ; he has read 
all, but approves of very few. His familiarity with the 
customs, manners, actions and writings of the ancients, 
makes him a very delicate observer of what occurs to him 
in the present world. He is an excellent critic, and the 
time of the play is his hour of business ; exactly at five he 
passes through New Inn, crosses through Eussell Court, 
and takes a turn at Will's, till the play begins ; he has his 
shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as 
you go into the Eose. It is for the good of the audience 
when he is at a play ; for the actors have an ambition to 
please him. 

The person of next consideration is Sir Andrew l^^eeport, 
a merchant of great eminence in the city of London. A 
person of indefatigable industry, strong reason, and great 
experience. His notions of trade are noble and generous, 
and (as every rich man has usually some sly way of jesting 
which would make no great figure Avere he not a rich man) 
he calls the sea the British Common. He is acquainted 
with commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a 
stupid and barbarous way to extend dominion by arms, for 
true power is to be got by arts and industr}^ He will often 
argue, that if this part of our trade were well cultivated, 
we should gain from one nation, — and if another, from an- 
other. I have heard him prove that diligence makes more 
lasting acquisitions than valor, and that sloth has ruined 
more nations than the sword. He abounds in several frugal 
maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite is, " A penny 
saved is a penny got." A general trader of good sense is 
pleasanter company than a general scholar ; and Sir Andrew 
having a natural unaffected eloquence, the perspicuity of 



8 Select Essays of Addison. 

his discourse gives the same pleasure that wit would in an- 
other man. He has made his fortunes himself ; and says 
that England may be richer than other kingdoms, by as 
plain methods as he himself is richer than other men ; 
though at the same time I can say this of him, that there is 
not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which 
he is an owner. 

Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room sits Captain Sentry, 
a gentleman of great courage, good understanding, but in- 
vincible modesty. He is one of those that deserve very 
well, but are very awkward at putting their talents within 
the observation of such as should take notice of them. He 
was some years a captain, and behaved himself with great 
gallantry in several engagements, and at several sieges ; but 
having a small estate of his own, and being next heir to Sir 
Roger, he has quitted a way of life, in which no man can 
rise suitably to his merit, who is not something of a cour- 
tier as well as a soldier. I have heard him often lament 
that in a profession where merit is placed in so conspicuous 
a view, impudence should get the better of modesty. He 
says it is a civil cowardice to be backward in asserting what 
you ought to expect, as it is a military fear to be slow in 
attacking when it is your duty. With this candor does the 
gentleman speak of himself and others. The same frank- 
ness runs through all his conversation. The military part 
of his life has furnished him with many adventures, in the 
relation of which he is very agreeable to the company ; for 
he is never over-bearing, though accustomed to command 
men in the utmost degree below him ; nor ever too obsequi- 
ous, from an habit of obeying men highly above him. 

But, that our society may not appear a set of humorists, 
unacquainted with the gallantries and pleasures of the age, 
we have among us the gallant Will Honeycomb, a gentle- 
man who, according to his years, should be in the decline of 
his life, but, having ever been very careful of his person, 



Tlte Spectator Club. 9 

and always had a very easy fortune, time has made but a 
very little impression, either by wrinkles on his forehead, 
or traces in his brain. His person is well turned, of a good 
height. He is very ready at that sort of discourse with 
which men usually entertain women. He has all his life 
dressed very well, and remembers habits as others do men. 
He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily. 
He knows the history of every mode, and can inform you 
from what Frenchwoman our wives and daughters had this 
manner of curling their hair, that way of placing their 
hoods ; and whose vanity to show her foot made that part of 
the dress so short in such a year. In a word, all his conversa- 
tion and knowledge have been in the female world ; as other 
men of his age will take notice to you what such a minister 
said upon such and such an occasion, he will tell you when 
the Duke of Monmouth danced at court, such a woman was 
then smitten, another was taken with him at the head of 
his troop in the Park. For all these important relations, 
he has ever about the same time received a kind glance or a 
blow of a fan from some celebrated beauty, mother of the 
present Lord such-a-one. 

I cannot tell whether I am to account him whom I am 
next to speak of, as one of our company ; for he visits us 
but seldom, but when he does, it adds to every man else a 
new enjoyment of himself. He is a clergyman, a very phil- 
osophic man, of general learning, great sanctity of life, and 
the most exact good breeding. He has the misfortune to 
be of a very weak constitution; and consequently cannot 
accept of such cares and business as preferments in his 
function would oblige him to ; he is therefore among divines 
what a chamber councillor is among lawyers. The probity 
of his mind, and the integrity of his life, create him follow- 
ers, as being eloquent or loud advances others. He seldom 
introduces the subject he speaks upon ; but we are so far 
gone in years that he observes, when he is among us, an 



10 Select Essays of Addison. 

earnestness to have him fall on some divine topic, which he 
always treats with much authority, as one who has no inter- 
ests in this world, as one who is hastening to the object of 
all his wishes, and conceives hope from his decays and in- 
firmities. These are my ordinary companions. — Steele. 



Spectator No. 34. Members of the Club discuss the Spectator's 

papers. 

The club of which I am a member is very luckily com- 
posed of such persons as are engaged in different ways of 
life, and deputed as it were out of the most conspicuous 
classes of mankind: by this means I am furnished with 
the greatest variety of hints and materials, and know every- 
thing that passes in the different quarters and divisions, 
not only of this great city, but of the whole kingdom. My 
readers too have the satisfaction to find, that there is no 
rank or degree among them who have not their representa- 
tive in this club, and that there is always somebody present 
who will take care of their respective interests, that nothing 
may be written or published to the prejudice or infringe- 
ment of their just rights and privileges. 

I last night sat very late in company with this select 
body of friends, who entertained me with several remarks 
which they and others had made upon these my specula- 
tions, as also with the various success which they had met 
with among their several ranks and degrees of readers. 
AYill Honeycomb told me, in the softest manner he could, 
that there were some ladies (but for your comfort, says 
Will, they are not those of the most wit) that were offended 
at the liberties I had taken with the opera and the puppet 
show; that some of them were likewise very much sur- 
prised, that I should *think such serious points as the dress 
and equipage of persons of quality, proper subjects for 
raillery. 



The Spectator's Policy DiscuBsed. 11 

He was going on, when Sir Andrew Freeport took him 
up short, and told him that the papers he hinted at had 
done great good in the city, and that all their wives and 
daughters were the better for them; and further added, 
that the whole city thought themselves very much obliged 
to me for declaring my generous intentions to scourge vice 
and folly as they appear in a multitude, without conde- 
scending to be a publisher of particular intrigues. "In 
short," says Sir Andrew, "if you avoid that foolish beaten 
road of falling upon aldermen and citizens, and employ your 
pen upon the vanity and luxury of courts, your paper must 
needs be of general use." 

Upon this my friend the Templar told Sir Andrew, that 
he wondered to hear a man of his sense talk after that 
manner; that the city had always been the province for 
satire; and that the wits of King Charles's time jested 
upon nothing else during his whole reign. He then showed, 
by the examples of Horace, Juvenal, Boileau, and the best 
writers of every age, that the follies of the stage and court 
had never been accounted too sacred for ridicule, how great 
soever the persons might be that patronized them : " But 
after all," says he, "I think your raillery has made too 
great an excursion in attacking several persons of the Inns 
of Court ; and I do not believe you can show me any pre- 
cedent for your behavior in that particular." 

My good friend Sir Eoger de Coverley, who had said 
nothing all this while, began his speech with a pish ! and 
told us, that he wondered to see so many men of sense so 
very serious upon fooleries. "Let our good friend," says 
he, " attack every one that deserves it : I would only advise 
you, Mr. Spectator," applying himself to me, "to take care 
how you meddle with country squires : they are the orna- 
ments of the English nation ; men of good heads and sound 
bodies ; and let me tell you, some of them take it ill of you, 
that you mention fox hunters with so little respect." 



12 Select Essays of Addison. 

Captain Sentry spoke very sparingly on this occasion. 
What he said was only to commend my prudence in not 
touching upon the army, and advised me to continue to act 
discreetly in that point. 

By this time I found every subject of my speculations 
was taken away from me, by one or other of the club ; and 
began to think myself in the condition of the good man 
that had one wife who took a dislike to his gray hairs, and 
another to his black, till by their picking out what each of 
them had an aversion to, they left his head altogether bald 
and naked. 

While I was thus musing with myself, my worthy friend 
the clergyman, who, very luckily for me, was at the club 
that night, undertook my cause. He told us that he won- 
dered any order of persons should think themselves too 
considerable to be advised: that it was not quality, but inno- 
cence, which exempted men from reproof: that vice and 
folly ought to be attacked wherever they could be met with, 
and especially when they were placed in high and conspic- 
uous stations of life. He further added, that my paper 
would only serve to aggravate the pains of poverty, if it 
chiefly exposed those who were already depressed, and in 
some measure turned into ridicule, by the meanness of their 
conditions and circumstances. He afterwards proceeded to 
take notice of the great use this paper might be of to the 
public, by reprehending those vices which are too trivial for 
the chastisement of the law, and too fantastical for the 
cognizance of the pulpit. He then advised me to prosecute 
my undertaking with cheerfulness, and assured me, that 
whoever might be displeased with me, I should be approved 
by all those whose praises do honor to the persons on whom 
they are bestowed. 

The whole club pays a particular deference to the dis- 
course of this gentleman, and are drawn into what he says 
as much by the candid ingenuous manner with which he 



The Sj}ectafo7''s Policy Discussed. 13 

delivers himself, as by the strength of argument and force 
of reason which he makes use of. Will Honeycomb imme- 
diately agreed, that what he had said was right ; and that, 
for his part, he would not insist upon the quarter which he 
had demanded for the ladies. Sir Andrew gave up the city 
with the same frankness. The Templar would not stand 
out ; and was followed by Sir Roger and the Captain ; who 
all agreed that I should be at liberty to carry the war into 
what quarter I pleased ; provided I continued to combat 
with criminals in a body, and to assault the vice without 
hurting the person. 

This debate, Avhich was held for the good of mankind, put 
me in mind of that which the Eoman triumvirate were for- 
merly engaged in for their destruction. Every man at lirst 
stood hard for his friend, till they found that by this means 
they should spoil their proscription : and at last making a 
sacrifice of all their acquaintance and relations, furnished 
out a very decent execution. 

Having thus taken my resolutions, to march on boldly in 
the cause of virtue and good sense, and to annoy their 
adversaries in whatever degree or rank of men they may be 
found, I shall be deaf for the future to all the remon- 
strances that shall be made to me on this account. If 
Punch grows extravagant, I shall reprimand him very freely : 
if the stage becomes a nursery of folly and impertinence, I 
shall not be afraid to animadvert upon it. In short, if I 
meet with anything in city, court, or country, that shocks 
modesty or good manners, I shall use my utmost endeavors 
to make an example of it. I must however entreat every 
particular person who does me the honor to be a reader of 
this paper, never to think himself, or any one of his friends 
or enemies, aimed at in what is said : for I promise him, 
never to draw a faulty character which does not fit at least 
a thousand people : or to publish a single paper, that is 
not written in the spirit of benevolence, and with a love to 
mankind. 



14 Select Essays of Addison, 

Spectator No. 105. Will Honeycomb's dislike of pedantry leads the 
Spectator to morcdize on this subject. 

My friend Will Honeycomb values himself very much 
upon what he calls the knowledge of mankind, which has 
cost him many disasters in his youth ; for Will reckons 
every misfortune that he has met with among the women, 
and every rencounter among the men, as parts of his educa- 
tion, and fancies he should never have been the man he is, 
had not he broke windows, knocked down constables, and 
disturbed honest people with his midnight serenades, when 
he Avas a young fellow. The engaging in adventures of this 
nature Will calls the studying of mankind, and terms this 
knowledge of the toAvn, the knowledge of the world. Will 
ingenuously confesses, that for half of his life his head 
ached every morning with reading of men over night ; and 
at present comforts himself under sundry infirmities with 
the reflection, that without them he could not have been 
acquainted with the gallantries of the age. This Will looks 
upon as the learning of a gentleman, and regards all other 
kinds of science as the accomplishments of one whom he 
calls a scholar, a bookish man, or a philosopher. 

For these reasons Will shines in a mixed company, where 
he has the discretion not to go out of his depth, and has 
often a certain way of making his real ignorance appear 
a seeming one. Our club however has frequently caught 
him tripping, at which times they never spare him. Eor 
as Will often insults us with the knowledge of the town, 
we sometimes take our revenge upon him by our knowledge 
of books. 

He was last week producing two or three letters which 
he writ in his youth to a coquette lady. The raillery of 
them was natural, and well enough for a mere man of the town ; 
but, very unluckily, several of the words were wrong spelt. 
Will laughed this off at first as well as he could, but find- 



Pedantry. ;j^5 

ing himself pushed on all sides, and especially by the Temp- 
lar, he told us, with a little passion, that he never liked 
pedantry m spelling, and that he spelt like a gentleman, 
and not like a scholar : upon this Will had recourse to his 
old topic of showing the narrow-spiritedness, the pride and 
ignorance of pedants ; which he carried so far, that upon 
my retiring to my lodgings, I could not forbear throwing 
together such reflections as occurred to me upon that 
subject. 

A man who has been brought up among books, and is 
able to talk of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, 
and what we call a pedant. But, methinks, we should 
enlarge the title, and give it every one that does not know 
how to think out of his profession and particular way of 
life. 

What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town? 
Bar him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beauties, 
and an account of a few fashionable distempers that have 
befallen him, and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty 
gentleman's knowledge lies all within the verge of the court ? 
He will tell you the names of the principal favorites, repeat 
the shrewd sayings of a man of quality, whisper an intrigue 
that is not yet blown upon by common fame: or, if the 
sphere of his observation is a little larger than ordinary, 
will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, and revolu- 
tions in a game of ombre. When he has gone thus far, he 
has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments,'his 
parts are drained, and he is disabled from any farther con- 
versation. What are these but rank pedants ? And yet these 
are the men who value themselves most on their exemption 
from the pedantry of colleges. 

I might here mention the military pedant, who always 
talks in a camp, and is storming towns, making lodgments, 
and fighting battles from one end of the year to the other. 
Everything he speaks smells of gunpowder; if you take away 



16 Select Essays of Addison. 

his artillery from him, he has not a word to say for himself. 
I might likewise mention the law pedant, that is perpetually 
putting cases, repeating the transactions of Westminster 
Hall, wrangling with you upon the most indifferent circum- 
stances of life, and not to be convinced of the distance of a 
place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, but by 
dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapped up in news, 
and lost in politics. If you mention either of the kings of 
Spain or Poland, he talks very notably ; but if you go out 
of the gazette, you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a 
mere soldier, a mere scholar, a mere anything, is an insipid 
pedantic character, and equally ridiculous. 

Of all the species of pedants, which I have mentioned, 
the book pedant is much the most supportable ; he has at 
least an exercised understanding, and a head which is full 
though confused, so that a man who converses with him may 
often receive from him hints of things that are worth know- 
ing, and what he may possibly turn to his own advantage, 
though they are of little use to the owner. The worst kind 
of pedants among learned men, are such as are naturally 
endowed with a very small share of common sense, and have 
read a great number of books without taste or distinction. 

The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, and all other 
methods of improvement, as it finishes good sense, so it 
makes a silly man ten thousand times more insufferable, by 
supplying variety of matter to his impertinence, and giving 
him an opportunity of abounding in absurdities. 

Shallow pedants cry up one another much more than men 
of solid and useful learning. To read the titles they give 
an editor, or collator of a manuscript, you would take him 
for the glory of the commonwealth of letters, and the won- 
der of his age, when perhaps upon examination you find that 
he lias only rectified a Greek particle, or laid out a whole 
sentence in proper commas. 

They are obliged indeed to be thus lavish of their praises, 



The Spectator at Sir Roger's, 17 

that they may keep one another in countenance, and it is no 
wonder if a great deal of knowledge, which is not capable 
of making a man wise, has a natural tendency to make him 
vain and arrogant. 



Spectator No. io6. The Spectator's observations at Sir Roger's 
country-house. 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir 
Koger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the 
country, I last week accompanied him thither, and am settled 
with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend 
to form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Roger, who 
is very well acquainted with my humor, lets me rise and go 
to bed when I please ; dine at his own table or in my chamber 
as I think fit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me 
be merry. When the gentlemen of the country come to see 
him, he only shows me at a distance : as I have been walk- 
ing in his fields I have observed them stealing a sight of me 
over an hedge, and have heard the knight desiring them not 
to let me see them, for that I hated to be stared at. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it 
consists of sober and staid persons : for as the knight is thei 
best master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; 
and as he is beloved by all about him, his servants never 
care for leaving him ; by this means his domestics are all in 
years, and grown old with their master. You would take 
his Yalet-de-chambre for his brother, his butler is grey- 
headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that I have 
ever seen, and his coachman has the looks of a privy-coun- 
sellor. You see the goodness of the master even in the old 
house-dog, and in a grey pad that is kept in the stable with 
great care and tenderness out of regard to his past services, 
though he has been useless for several years. 



18 Select Essays of Addison. 

I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the 
joy that appeared in the countenance of these ancient do- 
mestics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some 
of them could not refrain from tears at the sight of their 
old master ; every one of them pressed forward to do some- 
thing for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not em- 
ployed. At the same time the good old knight, with a 
mixture of the father and the master of the family, tem- 
pered the inquiries after his own affairs with several kind 
questions relating to themselves. This humanity and good 
nature engages everybody to him, so that when he is pleas- 
ant upon any of them, all his family are in good humor, 
and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself 
with : on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity 
of old age, it is easy for a stander by to observe a secret 
concern in the looks of all his servants. 

My worthy friend has put me under the particular care 
of his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as 
the rest of his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of 
pleasing me, because they have often heard their master 
talk of me as of his particular friend. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting him- 
self in the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man who 
is ever with Sir Eoger, and has lived at his house in the 
nature of a chaplain above thirty years. This gentleman 
is a person of good sense and some learning, of a very regu- 
lar life and obliging conversation : he heartily loves Sir 
Eoger, and knows that he is very much in the old knight's 
esteem, so that he lives in the family rather as a relation 
than a dependent. 

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend 
Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an 
humorist ; and that his virtues, as well as imperfections, 
are, as it were, tinged by a certain extravagance, which 
makes them particularly his, and distinguishes them from 



The Spectator at Sir Roger s. 19 

those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally 
veiy innocent in itself, so it renders his conversation highly 
agreeable, and more delightfnl than the same degree of 
sense and virtue would appear in their common or ordinary 
colors. As I was walking with him last night, he asked 
me how I liked the good man whom I have just now men- 
tioned ; and, without staying for my answer, told me that 
he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at 
his own table; for which reason he desired a particular 
friend of his at the university to find him out a clergyman 
rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good aspect, 
a clear voice, a sociable temper : and, if possible, a man 
that understood a little of back-gammon. ^^My friend,'' 
says Sir Roger, "found me out this gentleman, who, besides 
the endowments required of him, is, they tell me, a good 
scholar, though he does not show it : I have given him the 
parsonage of the parish; and because I know his value, 
have settled upon him a good annuity for life. If he out- 
lives me, he shall find that he was higher in my esteem 
than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me 
thirty years ; and though he does not know I have taken 
notice of it, has never in all that time asked anything of 
me for himself, though he is every day soliciting me for 
something in behalf of one or other of my tenants, his par- 
ishioners. There has not been a law-suit in the parish 
since he has lived among them ; if any dispute arises they 
apply themselves to him for the decision ; if they do not 
acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened 
above once or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his 
first settling with me, I made him a present of all the good 
sermons which have been printed in English, and only 
begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce one 
of them in the pulpit. Accordingly, he has digested them 
into such a series^ that they follow one another naturally, 
and make a continued system of practical divinity." 



20 Select Essays of Addison. 

As Sir Eoger was going on in his story, the gentle- 
man we were talking of came up to us ; and upon the 
knight's asking him who preached to-morrow ( for it was 
Saturday night ) told us, the Bishop of St. Asaph in the 
morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then showed 
us his list of preachers for the whole year, where I saw 
with a great deal of pleasure archbishop Tillotson, bishop 
Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several living 
authors who have published discourses of practical divinity. 
I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit, but I very 
much approved of my friend's insisting upon the quali- 
fications of a good aspect and a clear voice ; for I was so 
charmed with the gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as 
well as with the discourses he pronounced, that I think I 
never passed any time more to my satisfaction. A sermon 
repeated after this manner is like the composition of a poet 
in the mouth of a graceful actor. 

I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy 
would follow this example ; and instead of wasting their 
spirits in laborious compositions of their own, would 
endeavor after a handsome elocution, and all those other 
talents that are proper to enforce what has been penned by 
greater masters. This would not only be more easy to 
themselves, but more edifying to the people. 



Spectator No. 107. The Coverley household: Sir Roger's treat- 
ment of his servants. 

The reception, manner of attendance, undisturbed free- 
dom, and quiet, which I meet with here in the country, 
has confirmed me in the opinion I always had, that the 
general corruption of manners in servants is owing to 
the conduct of masters. The aspect of every one in the 
family carries so much satisfaction that it appears he 



Sir Roger and His Dependents. 21 

knows the happy lot which has befallen him in being a 
member of it. There is one particular which I have 
seldom seen but at Sir Eoger's ; it is usual in all other 
places, that servants fly from the parts of the house through 
which their master is j)assing: on the contrary, here they 
industriously place themselves in his way ; and it is on 
both sides, as it were, understood as a visit, when the 
servants appear without calling. This proceeds from the 
humane and equal temper of the man of the house, who 
also perfectly well knows how to enjoy a great estate with 
such economy as ever to be much beforehand. This makes 
his own mind untroubled, and consequently unapt to vent 
peevish expressions, or give passionate or inconsistent 
orders to those about him. Thus respect and love go 
together, and a certain cheerfulness in performance of their 
duty is the particular distinction of the loAver part of this 
family. When a servant is called before his master, he 
does not come with an expectation to hear himself rated for 
some trivial fault, threatened to be stripped, or used with 
any other unbecoming language, which mean masters often 
give to worthy servants ; but it is often to know what road 
he took that he came so readily back according to order ; 
whether he passed by such a ground; if the old man who 
rents it is in good health ; or whether he gave Sir Eoger's 
love to him, or the like. 

One might, on this occasion, recount the sense that great 
persons in all ages have had of the merit of their depend- 
ents, and the heroic services which men have done their 
masters in the extremity of their fortunes ; and shown to 
their undone patrons that fortune was all the difference 
between them; but as I design this my speculation only as 
a gentle admonition to thankless masters, I shall not go out 
of the occurrences of common life, but assert it as a general 
observation, that I never saw, but in Sir Eoger's family, and 
one or two more, good servants treated as they ought to be. 



22 Select Essays of Addiso7i. 

Sir Eoger's kindness extends to tlieir children's children, 
and this very morning he sent his coachman's grandson to 
prentice. I shall conclude this paper with an account of a 
picture in his galleiy, where there are many which will 
deserve my future observation. 

At the very upper end of this handsome structure I saw 
the portraiture of two young men standing in a river, the 
one naked, the other in a livery. The person supported 
seemed half dead, but still so much alive as to show in his 
face exquisite joy and love towards the other. I thought 
the fainting figure resembled my friend Sir Roger; and 
looking at the butler, who stood by me, for an account of it, 
he informed me that the person in the livery was a servant 
of Sir Eoger's, who stood on the shore while his master 
was swimming, and observing him taken with some sudden 
illness, and sink under water, jumped in and saved him. 
He told me Sir Eoger took off the dress he was in as soon 
as he came home, and by a great bounty at that time, fol- 
lowed by his favor ever since, had made him master of that 
pretty seat which we saw at a distance as we came to this 
house. I remembered indeed Sir Roger said there lived a 
very worthy gentleman, to whom he was highly obliged, 
without mentioning anything further. Upon my looking a 
little dissatisfied at some part of the picture, my attendant 
informed me that it was against Sir Roger's will, and at the 
earnest request of the gentleman himself, that he was drawn 
in the habit in which he had saved his master. — Steele. 



Spectator No. io8. The Spectator describes Will WhnUe, whom 
he meets at Sir Roger's. 

As I was yesterday morning walking with Sir Roger be- 
fore his house, a country fellow brought him a huge fish, 
which, he told him, Mr. William Wimble had caught that 



Will Wimble. 23 

very morning ; and that he presented it, with his service to 
him, and intended to come and dine with him. At the same 
time he delivered a letter, which my friend read to me as 
soon as the messenger left him. 

Sir Roger, — I desire you to accept of a jack, which is the best 
I have caught this season. I intend to come and stay with you a 
week, and see how the perch bite in the Black River. I observed with 
some concern, the last time I saw you upon the bowling-green, that 
your whip wanted a lash to it ; I will bring half a dozen with me 
that I twisted last week, which I hope will serve you all the time you 
are in the country. I have not been out of the saddle f6r six days 
last past, having been at Eton with Sir John's eldest son. He takes 
to his learning hugely. 

I am, sir, your humble servant. 

Will Wimble. 

This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied 
it, made me very curious to know the character and quality 
of the gentleman who sent them ; which I found to be as 
follows. Will Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and 
descended of the ancient family of the Wimbles. He is now 
between forty and fifty ; but being bred to no business and 
born to no estate, he generally lives with his elder brother 
as superintendent of his game. He hunts a pack of dogs 
better than any man in the country, and is very famous for 
finding out a hare. He is extremely well versed in all the 
little handicrafts of an idle man : he makes a may-fly to a 
miracle, and furnishes the whole country with angle-rods. 
As he is a good-natured officious fellow, and very much es- 
teemed upon account of his family, he is a welcome guest 
at every house, and keeps up a good correspondence among 
all the gentlemen about him. He carries a tulip-root in his 
pocket from one to another, or exchanges a puppy between 
a couple of friends that live perhaps in the opposite sides 
of the county. Will is a particular favorite of all the young 
heirs, whom he frequently obliges with a net that he has 



24 Select Essays of Addison. 

weavedj or a setting-dog that he has made himself. He now 
and then presents a pair of garters of his own knitting to 
their mothers or sisters ; and raises a great deal of mirth 
among them, by inquiring as often as he meets them how 
they wear. These gentleman-like manufactures and obliging 
little humors make Will the darling of the country. 

Sir Roger was proceeding in the character of him, when 
we saw him make up to us with two or three hazel-twigs in 
his hand that he had cut in Sir Koger's woods, as he came 
through them, in his way to the house. I was very much 
pleased to observe on one side the hearty and sincere wel- 
come with which Sir Roger received him, and on the other, 
the secret joy which his guest discovered at sight of the 
good old Knight. After the first salutes were over. Will 
desired Sir Roger to lend him one of his servants to carry 
a set of shuttlecocks he had with him in a little box to a 
lady that lived about a mile off, to whom it seems he had 
promised such a present for above this half year. Sir Roger's 
back was no sooner turned but honest Will began to tell me 
of a large cock-pheasant that he had sprung in one of the 
neighboring woods, with two or three other adventures of 
the same nature. Odd and uncommon characters are the 
game that I look for and most delight in ; for which reason 
I was as much pleased with the novelty of the person that 
talked to me, as he could be for his life with the springing 
of a pheasant, and therefore listened to him with more than 
ordinary attention. 

In the midst of his discourse the bell rung to dinner, 
where the gentleman I have been speaking of had the ]3leas- 
ure of seeing the huge jack he had caught served up for the 
first dish in a most sumptuous manner. Upon our sitting 
down to it he gave us a long account how he had hooked it, 
played with it, foiled it, and at length drew it out upon the 
bank, with several other particulars that lasted all the first 
course. A dish of wild fowl that came afterwards furnished 



Will Wimble. 25 

conversation for the rest of the dinner, which concluded with 
a late invention of Will's for improving the quail-pipe. 

Upon withdrawing into my room after dinner, I was 
secretly touched with compassion towards the honest gen- 
tleman that had dined with us, and could not but consider, 
with a great deal of concern, how so good an heart and such 
busy hands were wholly employed in trifles ; that so much 
humanity should be so little beneficial to others, and so 
much industry so little advantageous to himself. The same 
temper of mind and application to affairs might have rec- 
ommended him to the public esteem, and have raised his 
fortune in another station of life. What good to his coun- 
try or himself might not a trader or a merchant have done 
with such useful though ordinary qualifications ? 

Will Wimble's is the case of many a younger brother of 
a great family, who had rather see their children starve like 
gentlemen than thrive in a trade or profession that is be- 
neath their quality. This humor fills several parts of 
Europe with pride and beggary. It is the happiness of a 
trading nation, like ours, that the younger sons, though un- 
capable of any liberal art or profession, may be placed in 
such a way of life as may perhaps enable them to vie with 
the best of their family. Accordingly, we find several citi- 
zens that were launched into the world with narrow for- 
tunes, rising by an honest industry to greater estates than 
those of their elder brothers. It is not improbable but Will 
was formerly tried at divinity, law, or physic; and that 
finding his genius did not lie that way, his parents gave him 
up at length to his own inventions. But certainly, however 
improper he might have been for studies of a higher nature, 
he was perfectly well turned for the occupations of trade 
and commerce. As I think this is a point which cannot be 
too much inculcated, I shall desire my reader to compare 
what I have here written with what I have said in my 
twenty-first speculation. 



26 Select Essays of Addison. 

Spectator No. 109. Sir Roger's account of his ancestors. 

I was this morning walking in the gallery, when Sir Eoger 
entered at the end opposite to me, and, advancing towards 
me, said he was glad to meet me among his relations the 
De Coverleys, and hoped I liked the conversation of so much 
good company, who were as silent as myself. I knew he 
alluded to the pictures ; and, as he is a gentleman who does 
not a little value himself upon his ancient descent, I ex- 
pected he would give me some account of them. We were 
now arrived at the upper end of the gallery, when the Knight 
faced towards one of the pictures, and, as we stood before 
it, he entered into the matter, after his blunt way of saying 
things as they occur to his imagination without regular in- 
troduction or care to preserve the appearance of chain of 
thought. 

" It is," said he, " worth while to consider the force of 
dress, and how the persons of one age differ from those of 
another merely by that only. One may observe, also, that 
the general fashion of one age has been followed by one 
particular set of people in another, and by them preserved 
from one generation to another. Thus the vast jetting coat 
and small bonnet, which was the habit in Harry the Seventh's 
time, is kept on in the yeoman of the guard ; not without a 
good and politic view, because they look a foot taller, and 
a foot and a half broader : besides that the cap leaves the 
face expanded, and consequently more terrible, and fitter to 
stand at the entrances of palaces. 

" This predecessor of ours, you see, is dressed after this 
manner, and his cheeks would be no larger than mine were 
he in a hat as I am. He was the last man that won a prize 
in the Tilt Yard (which is now a common street before 
Whitehall). You see the broken lance that lies there by 
his right foot : he shivered that lance of his adversary all 
to pieces; and, bearing himself, look you, sir, in this man- 



The Coverlet/ Portrait Gr alter y, 27 

ner, at the same time he came within the target of the 
gentleman who rode against him, and taking him with 
incredible force before him on the pommel of his saddle, 
he in that manner rid the tournament over, with an air that 
showed he did it rather to perform the rule of the lists 
than expose his enemy : however, it appeared he knew how 
to make use of a victory, and, with a gentle trot, he marched 
up to a gallery where their mistress sat (for they were ri- 
vals) and let him down with laudable courtesy and pardon- 
able insolence. I don't know but it might be exactly where 
the coffee-house is now. 

'•'■ You are to know this my ancestor Avas not only of a 
military genius, but fit also for the arts of peace, for he 
played on the bass-viol as well as any gentleman at court : 
you see where his viol hangs by his basket-hilt sword. The 
action at the Tilt Yard you may be sure won the fair lady, 
who was a maid of honor, and the greatest beauty of her 
time ; here she stands, the next picture. You see, sir, my 
great-great-great-grandmother has on the new-fashioned 
petticoat, except that the modern is gathered at the waist : 
my grandmother appears as if she stood in a large drum, 
whereas the ladies now walk as if they were in a go-cart. 
For all this lady was bred at court, she became an excellent 
country wife, she brought ten children, and, when I show 
you the library, you shall see, in her own hand (allowing 
for the difference of the language), the best receipt now in 
England both for a hasty-pudding and a white-pot. 

" If you please to fall back a little, because 'tis necessary 
to look at the three next pictures at one view ; these are 
three sisters. She on the right hand, who is so very beau- 
tiful, died a maid; the next to her, still handsomer, had 
the same fate, against her will ; this homely thing in the 
middle had both their portions added to her own, and was 
stolen by a neighboring gentleman, a man of stratagem and 
resolution, for he poisoned three mastiffs to come at her, 



28 Select Essays of Addison. 

and knocked down two deer-stealers in carrying her off. 
Misfortunes happen in all families. The theft of this 
romp and so much money, was no great matter to our es- 
tate. But the next heir that possessed it was this soft 
gentleman, whom you see there : observe the small buttons, 
the little boots, the laces, the slashes about his clothes, 
and, above all, the posture he is drawn in (which to be sure 
was his own choosing) ; you see he sits with one hand on 
a desk writing and looking as it were another way, like an 
easy writer, or a sonneteer. He was one of those that had 
too much wit to know how to live in the world : he was a 
man of no justice, but great good manners ; he ruined every- 
body that had anything to do with him, but never said a 
rude thing in his life ; the most indolent person in the 
world, he would sign a deed that passed away half his es- 
tate with his gloves on, but would not put on his hat before 
a lady if it were to save his country. He is said to be the 
first that made love by squeezing the hand. He left the 
estate with ten thousand pounds debt upon it : but, how- 
ever, by all hands I have been informed that he was every 
way the finest gentleman in the world." 

Sir Eoger went on with his account of the gallery in the 
following manner. " This man" (pointing to him I looked 
at) " I take to be the honor of our house, Sir Humphrey de 
Coverley ; he was in his dealings as punctual as a trades- 
man, and as generous as a gentleman. He would have 
thought himself as much undone by breaking his word, as 
if it were to be followed b}^ bankruptcy. He served his 
country as knight of this shire to his d3dng day. He found 
it no easy matter to maintain an integrity in his words and 
actions, even in things that regarded the offices which were 
incumbent upon him, in the care of his own affairs and re- 
lations of life, and therefore dreaded (though he had great 
talents) to go into employments of state, where he must be 
exposed to the snares of ambition. Innocence of life and 



Haunted Houses. 29 

great ability were the distinguishing parts of his character ; 
the latter, he had often observed, had led to the destruction 
of the former, and used frequently to lament that great and 
good had not the same signification. He was an excellent 
husbandman, but had resolved not to exceed such a degree 
of w^ealth : all above it he bestowed in secret bounties many 
years after the sum he aimed at for his own use was at- 
tained. Yet he did not slacken his industry, but to a 
decent old age spent the life and fortune which was super- 
fluous to himself in the service of his friends and neigh- 
bors." 

Here we were called to dinner, and Sir Koger ended the 
discourse of this gentleman by telling me, as we ^followed 
the servant, that this his ancestor was a brave man, and 
narrowly escaped being killed in the Civil Wars; "For," 
said he, " he was sent out of the field upon a private mes- 
sage the day before the battle of Worcester." 

The whim of narrowly escaping by having been within 
a day of danger, with other matters above mentioned, 
mixed with good sense, left me at a loss whether I was 

more delighted with my friend's wisdom or simplicity. 

Steele. 



Spectator No. no. Ghosts and haunted houses. 

At a little distance from Sir Roger's house, among the 
ruins of an old abbey, there is a long walk of aged elms ; 
which are shot up so very high, that when one passes under 
them, the rooks and crows that rest upon the tops of them, 
seem to be cawing in another region. I am very much de- 
lighted with this sort of noise, which I consider as a kind 
of natural prayer to that Being who supplies the Avants of 
his whole creation, and who, in the beautiful language of 
the Psalms, feedeth the young ravens that call upon him. 



30 Select Essays of Addison. 

I like this retirement the better, because of an ill report it 
lies under of being haunted ; for which reason, as I have 
been told in the family, no living creature ever walks in it 
besides the chaplain. My good friend the butler desired 
me, with a very grave face, not to venture myself in it after 
sunset, for that one of the footmen had been almost frighted 
out of his wits by a spirit that appeared to him in the shape 
of a black horse without an head ; to which he added, that 
about a month ago, one of the maids coming home late that 
way, with a pail of milk upon her head, heard such a rustling 
among the bushes, that she let it fall. 

I was taking a walk in this place last night between the 
hours of nine and ten, and could not but fancy it one of the 
most proper scenes in the world for a ghost to appear in. 
The ruins of the abbey are scattered up and down on every 
side, and half covered with ivy and elder bushes, the har- 
bors of several solitary birds, which seldom make their 
appearance till the dusk of the evening. The place was 
formerly a churchyard, and has still several marks in it of 
graves and burying-places. There is such an echo among 
the old ruins and vaults, that if you stamp but a little 
louder than ordinary, you hear the sound repeated. At the 
same time the walk of elms, with the croaking of the ravens, 
which from time to time are heard from the tops of them, 
looks exceeding solemn and venerable. These objects natu- 
rally raise seriousness and attention; and when night height- 
ens the awfulness of the place, and pours out her supernum- 
erary horrors upon everything in it, I do not at all wonder 
that weak minds fill it with spectres and apparitions. 

Mr. Locke, in his chapter of the association of ideas, has 
very curious remarks, to show how, by the prejudice of ed- 
ucation, one idea often introduces into the mind a whole set 
that bear no resemblance to one another in the nature of 
things. Among several examples of this kind, he produces 
the following instance : — 



Sunday in the Country, 31 

The ideas of goblins and sprights have really no more to do with 
darkness than light ; yet let but a foolish maid inculcate these often on 
the mind of a child, and raise them there together, possibly he shall 
never be able to separate them again so long as he lives ; but darkness 
shall ever afterwards bring with it those frightful ideas, and they shall 
be so joined, that he can no more bear the one than the other. 

As I was walking in this solitude, where the dusk of the 
evening conspired with so many other occasions of terror, I 
observed a cow grazing not far from me, which an imagina- 
tion that was apt to startle might easily have construed into 
a black horse without an head ; and I daresay the poor foot- 
man lost his wits upon some such trivial occasion. 

My friend Sir Eoger has often told me, with a good deal 
of mirth, that at his first coming to his estate, he found 
three parts of his house altogether useless ; that the best 
room m it had the reputation of being haunted, and by that 
means was locked up ; that noises had been heard in his 
long gallery, so that he could not get a servant to enter it 
after eight o'clock at night; that the door of one of his 
chambers was nailed up, because there went a story in the 
family that a butler had formerly hanged himself in it; and 
that his mother, who lived to a great age, had shut up half 
the rooms m the house, in which either her husband, a son 
or a daughter had died. The knight seeing his habitation 
reduced to so small a compass, and himself in a manner 
shut out of his own house, upon the death of his mother 
ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exorcised 
by his chaplain, who lay in every room one after another 
and by that means dissipated the fears which had so lon^ 
reigned in the family. 



Spectator No. 112. Sunday in the country : Sir Roger at churcli. 

I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday, and 
think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human 



32 Select Essays of Addison. 

institution, it would be the best method that could have 
been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. 
It is certain the country people would soon degenerate into 
a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such fre- 
quent returns of a stated time in which the whole village 
meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest 
habits, to converse with one another upon indifferent sub- 
jects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together 
in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sunday clears away 
the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their 
minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes 
upon appearing in their most agreeable forms, and exerting 
all such qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye 
of the village. A country fellow distinguishes himself as 
much in the churchj^ard, as a citizen does upon the Change, 
the whole parish politics being generally discussed in that 
place either after sermon or before the bell rings. 

My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beauti- 
fied the inside of his church with several texts of his own 
choosing; he has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, 
and railed in the communion table at his own expense. He 
has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found 
his parishioners ver}^ irregular ; and that in order to make 
them kneel and join in the responses, he gave every one of 
them a hassock and a common-prayer book : and at the same 
time employed an itinerant singing master, who goes about 
the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the 
tunes of the psalms ; upon which they now ver}^ much value 
themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches 
that I have ever heard. 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he 
keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to 
sleep in it besides himself ; for if by chance he has been 
surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out 
of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees any- 



Sunday in the Country, 33 

body else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his 
servants to them. Several other of the old knight's partic- 
ularities break out upon these occasions : sometimes he will 
be lengthening out a verse in the singing-psalms, half a 
minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it ; 
sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his devo- 
tion, he pronounces Amen three or four times to the same 
prayer ; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is 
upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of 
his tenants are missing. 

I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, 
in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews 
to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. 
This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an 
idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his 
diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted in 
that odd manner which accompanies him in all circumstan- 
ces of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are 
not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behavior ; 
besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his 
character makes his friends observe these little singularities 
as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities. 

As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to 
stir till Sir Eoger is gone out of the church. The knight 
walks down from his seat in the chancel between a double 
row of his tenants, that stand bowing to him on each side ; 
and every now and then inquires how such an one's wife, or 
mother, or son, or father do, whom he does not see at church ; 
which is understood as a secret reprimand to the person that 
is absent. 

The chaplain has often told me, that upon a catechising 
day, when Sir Eoger has been pleased with a boy that an- 
swers well, he has ordered a bible to be given him next day 
for his encouragement ; and sometimes accompanies it with 
a flitch of bacon for his mother. Sir Roger has likewise 



34 Select Essays of Addison. 

added five pounds a year to the clerk's place ; and that he 
may encourage the young fellows to make themselves perfect 
in the church service, has promised, upon the death of the 
present incumbent, who is very old, to bestow it according 
to merit. 

The fair understanding between Sir Eoger and his chap- 
lain, and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the 
more remarkable, because the very next village is famous 
for the differences and contentions that rise between the 
parson and the 'squire, who live in a perpetual state of war. 
The parson is always preaching at the 'squire, and the 
'squire to be revenged on the parson never comes to church. 
The 'squire has made all his tenants atheists and tithe-steal- 
ers ; while the parson instructs them every Sunday in the 
dignity of his order, and insinuates to them in almost every 
sermon that he is a better man than his patron. In short 
matters are come to such an extremity, that the 'squire has 
not said his prayers either in public or private this half 
year ; and that the parson threatens him, if he does not 
mend his manners, to pray for him in the face of the whole 
congregation. 

Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, 
are very fatal to the ordinary people 5 who are so used to be 
dazzled with riches, that they pay as much deference to the 
understanding of a man of an estate, as of a man of learn- 
ing : and are very hardly brought to regard any truth, how 
important soever it may be, that is preached to them, when 
they know there are several men of five hundred a year who 
do not believe it. 



Spectator No. 113. Sir Roger in love. 

In my first description of the company in which I pass 
most of my time it may be remembered that I mentioned 
a great affliction which my friend Sir Eoger had met with 



Sir Roger m Love. 35 

in his youth : which was no less than a disappointment 
in love. It happened this evening that we fell into a very 
pleasing walk at a distance from his house : as soon as 
we came into it, " It is, '' quoth the good old man, looking 
round him with a smile, " very hard, that any part of my 
land should be settled upon one who has used me so ill as 
the perverse Widow did ; and yet I am sure I could not see 
a sprig of any bough of this whole walk of trees, but I 
should reflect upon her and her severity. She has certainly 
the finest hand of any woman in the world. You are to 
know this was the place wherein I used to muse upon her ; 
and by that custom I can never come into it, but the same 
tender sentiments revive in my mind as if I had actually 
walked with that beautiful creature under these shades. 
I have been fool enough to carve her name on the bark 
of several of these trees ; so unhappy is the condition of 
men in love to attempt the removing of their passion by 
the methods which serve only to imprint it deeper. She 
has certainly the finest hand of any woman in the world.^' 

Here followed a profound silence ; and I was not dis- 
pleased to observe my friend falling so naturally into a 
discourse which I had ever before taken notice he industri- 
ously avoided. After a very long pause he entered upon 
an account of this great circumstance in his life, with an 
air which I thought raised my idea of him above what 
I had ever had before; and gave me the picture of that 
cheerful mind of his, before it received that stroke which 
has ever since affected his words and actions. But he went 
on as follows : — 

'^ I came to my estate in my twenty-second year, and re- 
solved to follow the steps of the most worthy of my ances- 
tors who have inhabited this spot of earth before me, in all 
the methods of hospitality and good neighborhood, for the 
sake of my fame, and in country sports and recreations, for 
the sake of my health. In my twenty-third year I was 



36 Select Essays of Addison. 

obliged to serve as sheriff of the county ; and in my ser- 
vants, officers, and whole equipage, indulged the pleasure of 
a young man (who did not think ill of his own person) in 
taking that public occasion of showing my figure and behav- 
ior to advantage. You may easily imagine to yourself what 
appearance I made, who am pretty tall, rid well, and was 
very well dressed, at the head of a whole county, with music 
before me, a feather in my hat, and my horse well bitted. 
I can assure you I was not a little pleased with the kind 
looks and glances I had from all the balconies and windows 
as I rode to the hall where the assizes were held. But 
when I came there, a beautiful creature in a widow's habit 
sat in court, to hear the event of a cause concerning her 
dower. This commanding creature (who was born for the 
destruction of all who behold her) put on such a resigna- 
tion in her countenance, and bore the whispers of all around 
the court, with such a pretty uneasiness, I warrant you, 
and then recovered herself from one eye to another, till 
she was perfectly confused by meeting something so wistful 
in all she encountered, that at last, with a murrain to her, 
she cast her bewitching eye upon me. I no sooner met 
it but I bowed like a great surprised booby ; and knowing 
her cause to be the first which came on, I cried, like a 
captivated calf as I was, ^ Make way for the defendant's 
witnesses.' This sudden partiality made all the county 
immediately see the sheriff also was become a slave to 
the fine widow. During the time her cause was upon trial, 
she behaved herself, I warrant you, with such a deep atten- 
tion to her business, took opportunities to have little billets 
handed to her counsel, then would be in such a pretty con- 
fusion, occasioned, you must know, by acting before so much 
company, that not only I but the whole court was prejudiced 
in her favor ; and all that the next heir to her husband had to 
urge was thought so groundless and frivolous, that when it 
came to her counsel to reply, there was not half so much 



Sir Roger in Love. 37 

said as every one besides in the court thought he could 
have urged to her advantage. You must understand, sir, 
this perverse woman is one of those unaccountable creatures, 
that secretly rejoice in the admiration of men, but indulge 
themselves in no further consequences. Hence it is that 
she has ever had a train of admirers, and she removes from 
her slaves in town to those in the country, according to the 
seasons of the year. She is a reading lady, and far gone 
in the pleasures of friendship : she is always accompanied 
by a confidante, who is witness to her daily protestations 
against our sex, and consequently a bar to her first steps 
towards love, upon the strength of her own maxims and 
declarations. 

" She is such a desperate scholar, that no country gentle- 
man can approach her without being a jest. As I was going 
to tell you, when I came to her house I was admitted to 
her presence with great civility ; at the same time she 
placed herself to be first seen by me in such an attitude, 
as I think you call the posture of a picture, that she discov- 
ered new charms, and I at last came towards her with such 
an awe as made me speechless. This she no sooner observed 
but she made her advantage of it, and began a discourse to 
me concerning love and honor, as they both are followed by 
pretenders, and the real votaries to them. When she dis- 
cussed these points in a discourse, which I verily believe 
was as learned as the best philosopher in Europe could 
possibly make, she asked me whether she was so happy 
as to fall in with my sentiments on these important partic- 
ulars. Her confidante sat by her, and upon my being in 
the last confusion and silence, this malicious aid of hers 
turning to her says, ' I am very glad to observe Sir Koger 
pauses upon this subject, and seems resolved to deliver all 
his sentiments upon the matter when he pleases to speak.' 
They both kept their countenances, and after I had sat half 
an hour meditating how to behave before such profound 



38 Select Essays of Addison, 

casuists^ I rose up and took my leave. Chance has since 
that time thrown me very often in her way, and she as 
often has directed a discourse to me which I do not under- 
stand. This barbarity has kept me ever at a distance from 
the most beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. It is thus 
also she deals with all mankind, and you must make love 
to her, as you would conquer the sphinx, by posing her. 
But were she like other women, and that there were any 
talking to her, how constant must the pleasure of that man 

be, who could converse with a creature But, after all, 

you may be sure her heart is fixed on some one or other; 
and yet I have been credibly informed — but who can believe 
half that is said ? '' 

I found my friend begin to rave, and insensibly led him 
towards the house, that we might be joined by some other 
company ; and am convinced that the Widow is the secret 
cause of all that inconsistency which appears in some parts 
of my friend's discourse ; though he has so much command 
of himself as not directly to mention her, yet according to 
that passage of Martial, which one knows not how to 
render into English, Dum tacet lianc loquitur. — Steele. 



Spectator No. 115. Exercise the best means of preserving health : 
Sir Roger as a hunter. 

Bodily labor is of two kinds, either that which a man 
submits to for his livelihood, or that which he undergoes 
for his pleasure. The latter of them generally changes the 
name of labor for that of exercise, but differs only from 
ordinary labor as it rises from another motive. 

That we might not want inducements to engage us in such 
an exercise of the body as is proper for its welfare, it is so 
ordered, that nothing valuable can be procured without it. 
Not to mention riches and honor, even food and raiment are 



Hunting as an Exercise, 39 

not to be come at without the toil of the hands and sweat 
of the brows. Providence furnishes materials, but expects 
that we should work them up ourselves. The earth must 
be labored before it gives its increase, and when it is forced 
into its several products, how many hands must they pass 
through before they are fit for use ? Manufactures, trade 
and agriculture, naturally employ more than nineteen parts 
of the species in twenty; and as for those who are not 
obliged to labor, by the condition in which they are born, 
they are more miserable than the rest of mankind, unless 
they indulge themselves in that voluntary labor which goes 
by the name of exercise. 

My friend Sir Roger has been an indefatigable man .in bus- 
iness of this kind, and has hung several parts of his house 
with the trophies of his former labors. The w^alls of his 
great hall are covered with the horns of several kinds of 
deer that he has killed in the chase, which he thinks the 
most valuable furniture of his house, as they afford him fre- 
quent topics of discourse, and show that he has not been 
idle. At the lower end of the hall is a large otter's skin 
stuffed with hay, which his mother ordered to be hung up 
in that manner, and the knight looks upon it with great 
satisfaction, because it seems he was but nine years old 
when his dog killed him. A little room adjoining to the 
hall is a kind of arsenal filled with guns of several sizes 
and inventions, Avith which the knight has made great 
havoc in the woods, and destroyed many thousands of 
pheasants, partridges, and woodcocks. His stable doors 
are patched with noses that belonged to foxes of the 
knight's own hunting down. Sir Eoger showed me one of 
them, that for distinction's sake has a brass nail struck 
through it, which cost him about fifteen hours' riding, car- 
ried him through half a dozen counties, killed him a brace 
of horses, and lost above half his dogs. This the knight 
looks upon as one of the greatest exploits of his life. The 



40 Select Essays of Addison. 

perverse widow, whom I have given some account of, was 
the death of. several foxes ; for Sir Eoger has told me, that in 
the course of his amours he patched the western door of his 
stable. Whenever the widow was cruel, the foxes were sure 
to pay for it. In pro23ortion as his passion for the widow 
abated, and old age came on, he left off fox-hunting ; but a 
hare is not yet safe that sits within ten miles of his house. 

There is no kind of exercise which I would so recommend 
to my readers of both sexes as this of riding, as there is 
none which so much conduces to health, and is every way 
accommodated to the body, according to the idea which I 
have given of it. For my own part, when I am in town, 
for want of these opportunities, I exercise myself an hour 
every morning upon a dumb bell that is placed in a corner 
of my room, and pleases me the more, because it does every- 
thing I require of it in the most profound silence. My 
landlady and her daughters are so well acquainted with my 
hours of exercise, that they never come into my room to 
disturb me whilst I am ringing. 

When I was some years younger than I am at present, I 
used to employ myself in a more laborious diversion, which 1 
learned from a Latin treatise of exercises, that is written with 
great erudition : it is there called the o-Kio/xaxta, or the fighting 
with a man's own shadow, and consists in the brandishing 
of two short sticks grasped in each hand, and loaden with 
plugs of lead at either end. This opens the chest, exercises 
the limbs, and gives a man all tlie pleasure of boxing with- 
out the blows. I could wish that several learned men 
would lay out that time which they employ in controversies 
and disputes about nothing, in this method of fighting with 
their own shadows. It might conduce very much to evapo- 
rate the spleen, which makes them uneasy to the public 
as well as to themselves. 

To conclude, as I am a compound of soul and body, I con- 
sider myself as obliged to a double scheme of duties j and 



The Spectator in the Hunting-field. 41 

think I have not fulfilled the business of the day, when I 
do not thus employ the one in labor and exercise, as well 
as the other in study and contemplation. 



Spectator No. Il6. The Spectator accompanies Sir Roger to the 
hunting-field. 

Those who have searched into human nature observe that 
nothing so much shows the nobleness of the soul, as that 
its felicity consists in action. Every man has such an 
active principle in him, that he will find out something to 
employ himself upon, in whatever place or state of life he 
is posted. I have heard of a gentleman Avho was under 
close confinement in the Bastile seven years ; during which 
time he amused himself in scattering a few small pins about 
his chamber, gathering them up again, and placing them in 
different figures on the arm of a great chair. He often 
told his friends afterwards, that unless he had found out 
this piece of exercise, he verily believed he should have lost 
his senses. 

After what has been said, I need not inform my readers, 
that Sir Roger, with whose character I hope they are at 
present pretty well acquainted, has in his youth gone 
through the whole course of those rural diversions which 
the country abounds in ; and which seem to be extremely 
well suited to that laborious industry a man may observe 
here in a far greater degree than in towns and cities. I 
have before hinted at some of my friend's exploits : he has 
in his youthful days taken forty coveys of partridges in a 
season ; and tired many a salmon with a line consisting but 
of a single hair. The constant thanks and good wishes of 
the neighborhood always attended him on account of his 
remarkable enmity towards foxes ; having destroyed more 
of these vermin in one year than it was thought the whole 



42 Select Essays of Addison. 

country could have produced. Indeed, tlie knight does not 
scruple to own among his most intimate friends, that in 
order to establish his reputation this way, he has secretly 
sent for great numbers of them out of other counties, which 
he used to turn loose about the country by night, that he 
might the better signalize himself in their destruction the 
next day. His hunting horses were the finest and best 
managed in all these parts : his tenants are still full of the 
praises of a gray stone horse that unhappily staked himself 
several years since, and was buried with great solemnity in 
the orchard. 

Sir Roger, being at present too old for fox-hunting, to 
keep himself in action, has disposed of his beagles and 
got a pack of stop-hounds. What these want in speed he 
endeavors to make amends for by the deepness of their 
mouths and the variety of their notes, which are suited 
in such manner to each other that the whole cry makes 
up a complete concert. He is so nice in this particular, 
that a gentleman having made him a present of a very fine 
hound the other day, the knight returned it by the servant 
with a great many expressions of civility ; but desired him 
to tell his master that the dog he had sent was indeed a 
most excellent bass, but that at present he only wanted 
a counter-tenor. Could I believe my friend had ever read 
Shakespeare I should certainly conclude he had taken the 
hint from Theseus in the Midsummer Night's Dream. 

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flu'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
Crook- kneed and dew-lap' d like Thessalian bulls ; 
Slow in pursuit, but match' d in mouths like bells, 
Each under each : a cry more tunable 
"Was never holla' d to, nor cheer'd with horn. 

Sir Roger is so keen at this sport that he has been out 
almost every day since I came down ; and upon the 



The Spectator in the Hunting-field. 43 

chaplain's offering to lend me his easy pad, I was pre- 
vailed on yesterday morning to make one of the company. 
I was extremely pleased, as we rid along, to observe the 
general benevolence of all the neighborhood towards my 
friend. The farmer's sons thought themselves happy if 
they could open a gate for the good old Knight as he 
passed by ; which he generally requited with a nod or a 
smile, and a kind inquiry after their fathers and uncles. 

After we had rid about a mile from home, we came upon 
a large heath, and the sportsmen began to beat. They had 
done so for some time, when, as I was at a little distance 
from the rest of the company, I saw a hare pop out from a 
small furze-brake almost under my horse's feet. I marked 
the way she took, which I endeavored to make the company 
sensible of by extending my arm ; but to no purpose, till 
Sir Eoger, who knows that none of my extraordinary mo- 
tions are insignificant, rode up to me, and asked me if puss 
was gone that way. Upon my answering "Yes," he im- 
mediately called in the dogs and put them upon the scent. 
As they were going off, I heard one of the country -fellows 
muttering to his companion that 'twas a wonder they had 
not lost all their sport, for want of the silent gentleman's 
crying " Stole away ! " 

This, with my aversion to leaping hedges, made me with- 
draw to a rising ground, from whence I could have the pic- 
ture of the whole chase, without the fatigue of keeping in 
with the hounds. The hare immediately threw them above 
a mile behind her : but I was pleased to find that instead 
of running straight forward, or in hunter's language, " fly- 
ing the country,'' as I was afraid she might have done, she 
wheeled about, and described a sort of circle round the hill 
where I had taken my station, in such a manner as gave me 
a very distinct view of the sport. I could see her first pass 
by, and the dogs some time afterwards unravelling the 
whole track she had made, and following her through all 



44 Select Essays of Addison. 

her doubles. I was at the same time delighted in observing 
that deference which the rest of the pack paid to each par- 
ticular hound, according to the character he had acquired 
amongst them : if they were at fault, and an old hound of 
reputation opened but once, he was immediately followed 
by the whole cry ; while a raw dog, or one who was a noted 
liar, might have yelped his heart out, without being taken 
notice of. 

The hare now, after having squatted two or three times, 
and been put up again as often, came still nearer to the 
place where she was at first started. The dogs pursued her, 
and these were followed by the jolly Knight, who rode upon 
a white horse, encompassed by his tenants and servants, 
and cheering his hounds with all the gaiety of five-and- 
twenty. One of the sportsmen rode up to me, and told me 
that he was sure the chase was almost at an end, because 
the old dogs, which had hitherto lain behind, now headed 
the pack. The fellow was in the right. Our hare took a 
large field just under us, followed by the full cry " In view.^' 
I must confess the brightness of the weather, the cheerful- 
ness of every thing around me, the chiding of the hounds, 
which was returned upon us in a double echo from two 
neighboring hills, with the hollowing of the sportsmen, and 
the sounding of the horn, lifted my spirits into a most lively 
pleasure, which I freely indulged because I was sure it was 
innocent. If I was under any concern, it was on the ac- 
count of the poor hare, that was now quite spent, and almost 
within the reach of her enemies ; when the huntsman, get- 
ting forward, threw down his pole before the dogs. They 
were now within eight yards of that game which they had 
been pursuing for almost as many hours ; yet on the signal 
before-mentioned they all made a sudden stand, and though 
they continued opening as much as before, durst not once 
attempt to pass beyond the pole. At the same time Sir 
Roger rode forward, and alighting, took up the hare in his 



Moll White, the Witch, 45 

arms ; which he soon delivered up to one of his servants 
with an order, if she could be kept alive, to let her go in 
his great orchard : where it seems he has several of these 
prisoners of war, who live together in a very comfortable 
captivity. I was highly pleased to see the discipline of the 
pack, and the good-nature of the Knight, who could not find 
in his heart to murder a creature that had given him so 
much diversion. 

For my own part I intend to hunt twice a week during 
my stay with Sir Eoger ; and shall prescribe the moderate 
use of this exercise to all my country friends, as the best 
kind of physic for mending a bad constitution, and preserv- 
ing a good one. 

I cannot do this better than in the following lines out 
of Mr. Dryden : — 

The first physicians by debauch were made ; 

Excess began, and sloth sustains the trade. 

By chase our long-lived fathers earned their food ; 

Toil strung the nerves, and purified the blood ; 

But we their sons, a pamper'd race of men. 

Are dwindled down to threescore years and ten. 

Better to hunt in fields for health unbought 

Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. 

The wise for cure on exercise depend : 

God never made His work for man to mend. — Budgell. 



Spectator No. 117. The Spectator discusses witchcraft: with Sir 
Roger he visits Moll White. 

There are some opinions in which a man should stand 
neuter, without engaging his assent to one side or the other. 
Such a hovering faith as this, which refuses to settle upon 
any determination, is absolutely necessary to a mind that is 
careful to avoid errors and prepossessions. When the argu- 
ments press equally on both sides in matters that are indif- 



46 Select Essays of Addison. 

ferent to iis, the safest method is to give up ourselves to 
neither. 

It is with this temper of mind that I consider the subject 
of witchcraft. When I hear the relations that are made 
from all parts of the world, not only from Norway and Lap- 
land, from the East and West Indies, but from every par- 
ticular nation in Europe, I cannot forbear thinking that 
there is such an intercourse and commerce with evil spirits, 
as that which we express by the name of witchcraft. But 
when I consider that the ignorant and credulous parts of 
the world abound most in these relations, and that the per- 
sons among us who are supposed to engage in such an in- 
fernal commerce are people of a weak understanding and a 
crazed imagination, and at the same time reflect upon the 
many impostures and delusions of this nature that have 
been detected in all ages, I endeavor to suspend my belief 
till I hear more certain accounts than any which have yet 
come to my knowledge. In short, when I consider the ques- 
tion, whether there are such persons in the world as those 
we call witches, my mind is divided between the two oppo- 
site opinions : or rather (to speak my thoughts freely) I 
believe in general that there is, and has been such a thing 
as witchcraft ; but at the same time can give no credit to 
any particular instance of it. 

I am engaged in this speculation by some occurrences 
that I met with yesterday, which I shall give my reader 
an account of at large. As I was walking with my friend 
Sir Eoger by the side of one of his woods, an old woman 
applied herself to me for charity. The Knight told me that 
this old woman had the reputation of a witch all over the 
country, that her lips were observed to be always in motion, 
and that there Avas not a switch about her house which her 
neighbors did not believe had carried her several hundreds 
of miles. If she chanced to stumble, they always found 
sticks or straws that lay in the figure of a cross before her. 



Moll White, the Witch. 47 

If she made any mistake at church, and cried Amen in a 
wrong place, they never failed to conclude that she was say- 
ing her prayers backwards. There was not a maid in the 
parish that would take a pin of her, though she would offer 
a bag of money with it. She goes by the name of Moll 
White, and has made the country ring with several imagi- 
nary exploits which are palmed upon her. If the dairy maid 
does not make her butter come as soon as she should have 
it, Moll White is at the bottom of the churn. If a horse 
sweats in the stable, Moll White has been upon his back. 
If a hare makes an unexpected escape from the hounds, the 
huntsman curses Moll White. "Nay" (says Sir Eoger), 
" I have knoAvn the master of the pack upon such an occa- 
sion, send one of his servants to see if Moll White had been 
out that morning." 

This account raised my curiosity so far, that I begged my 
friend Sir Roger to go with me into her hovel, which stood 
in a solitary corner under the side of the wood. Upon our 
first entering Sir Eoger winked to me, and pointed at some- 
thing that stood behind the door, which, upon looking that 
way, I found to be an old broomstaff. At the same time he 
whispered me in the ear to take notice of a tabby cat that 
sat in the chimney corner, which, as the old Knight told me, 
lay under as bad a report as Moll White herself ; for besides 
that Moll is said often to accompany her in the same shape, 
the cat is reported to have spoken twice or thrice in her life, 
and to have played several pranks above the capacity of an 
ordinary cat. 

I was secretly concerned to see human nature in so much 
wretchedness and disgrace, but at the same time could not 
forbear smiling to hear Sir Eoger, who is a little puzzled 
about the old woman, advising her as a justice of peace to 
avoid all communication with the devil, and never to hurt 
any of her neighbors' cattle. AVe concluded our visit with 
a bounty, which was very acceptable. 



48 Select Essays of Addison. 

In our return home, Sir Eoger told me that old Moll had 
been often brought before him for making children spit pins, 
and giving maids the night-mare ; and that the country 
people would be tossing her into a pond and trying experi- 
ments with her every day, if it was not for him and his 
chaplain. 

I have since found upon inquiry that Sir Koger was 
several times staggered with the reports that had been 
brought him concerning this old woman, and would fre- 
quently have bound her over to the county sessions had not 
his chaplain with much ado persuaded him to the contrary. 

I have been the more particular in this account, because 
I hear there is scarce a village in England that has not a 
Moll White in it. When an old woman begins to dote, and 
grow chargeable to a parish, she is generally turned into a 
witch, and fills the whole country with extravagant fancies, 
imaginary distempers and terrifying dreams. In the mean 
time, the poor wretch that is the innocent occasion of so 
many evils begins to be frightened at herself, and sometimes 
confesses secret commerce and familiarities that her imagi- 
nation forms in a delirious old age. This frequently cuts 
off charity from the greatest objects of compassion, and 
inspires people with a malevolence towards those j)Oor 
decrepit parts of our species, in whom human nature is 
defaced by infirmity and dotage. 



Spectator No. 122. Sir Roger at the assizes. 

A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of 
his own heart; the next to escape the censures of the 
world. If the last interferes with the former, it ought to 
be entirely neglected; but otherwise there cannot be a 
greater satisfaction to an honest mind than to see those 
approbations which it gives itself seconded by the applauses 



Si7' Roger at the Assizes. 49 

of the public. A man is more sure of his conduct when the 
verdict which he passes upon his own behavior is thus war- 
ranted and confirmed by the opinion of all that know him. 

My worthy friend Sir Koger is one of those who is not 
only at peace within himself but beloved and esteemed by 
all about him. He receives a suitable tribute for his univer- 
sal benevolence to mankind in the returns of affection and 
goodwill which are paid him by every one that lives within 
his neighborhood. I lately met with two or three odd 
instances of that general respect which is shown to the good 
old Knight. He would needs carry Will Wimble and myself 
with him to the county assizes. As we were upon the road, 
Will Wimble joined a couple of plain men who rid before us, 
and conversed with them for some time ; during which my 
friend Sir Eoger acquainted me with their characters. 
^ "The first of them," says he, "that has a spaniel by his 
side, is a yeoman of about an hundred pounds a year, an 
Ijonest man. He is just within the Game Act, and qual- 
ified to kill a hare or a pheasant. He knocks down a din- 
ner with his gun twice or thrice a week ; and by that means 
lives much cheaper than those who have not so good an 
estate as himself. He would be a good neighbor if he did 
not destroy so many partridges ; in short, he is a very sen- 
sible man, shoots flying, and has been several times foreman 
of the petty jury. 

" The other that rides along with him is Tom Touchy, a 
fellow famous for taking the law of every body. There is 
not one in the town where he lives that he has not sued at 
a quarter sessions. The rogue had once the impudence to 
go to law with the Widow. His head is full of costs, dam- 
ages, and ejectments ; he plagued a couple of honest gentle- 
men so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges, till 
he was forced to sell the ground it enclosed to defray the 
charges of the prosecution. His father left him four-score 
pounds a year, but he has cast, and been cast so often, that 



50 Select Essays of Addison. 

he is not now wortli thirty. I suppose he is going upon the 
old business of the willow tree." 

As Sir Roger was giving me this account of Tom Touchy, 
Will Wimble and his two companions stopped short till we 
came up to them. After having paid their respects to Sir 
Eoger, Will told them that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal 
to him upon a dispute that arose between them. Will, it 
seems, had been giving his fellow travellers an account of 
his angling one day in such a hole ; when Tom Touchy, 
instead of hearing out his story, told him that Mr. Such-an- 
one, if he pleased, might take the law of him for fishing in 
that part of the river. My friend Sir Eoger heard them 
both, upon a round trot; and, after having paused some 
time, told them, with the air of a man who would not give 
his judgment rashly, that much might be said on both sides. 
They were neither of them dissatisfied with the Knight's 
determination, because neither of them found himself in the 
wrong by it. Upon which we made the best of our way to 
the assizes. 

The court was sat before Sir Eoger came; but notwith- 
standing all the justices had taken their places upon the 
bench, they made room for the old Knight at the head of 
them ; who, for his reputation in the country, took occasion 
to whisper in the judge's ear, that he was glad his lordship 
had met with so much good weather in his circuit. I was 
listening to the proceeding of the court with much atten- 
tion, and infinitely pleased with that great appearance and 
solemnity which so properly accompanies such a public 
administration of our laws ; when, after about an hour's sit- 
ting, I observed, to my great surprise, in the midst of a trial, 
that my friend Sir Eoger was getting up to speak. I was 
in some pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself 
of two or three sentences, with a look of much business and 
great intrepidity. 

Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general 



Sir Roger at the Assizes. 51 

whisper ran among the country people that Sir Roger was 
up. The speech he made was so little to the purpose, that 
I shall not trouble my readers with an account of it ; and I 
believe was not so much designed by the Knight himself to 
inform the court, as to give him a figure in my eye, and 
keep up his credit in the country. 

I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the 
gentlemen of the country gathering about my old friend, 
and striving who should compliment him most ; at the same 
time that the ordinary people gazed upon him at a distance, 
not a little admiring his courage, that was not afraid to 
speak to the judge. 

In our return home we met with a very odd accident, 
which I cannot forbear relating, because it shows how desir- 
ous all who know Sir Roger are of giving him marks of 
their esteem. When we were arrived upon the verge of his 
estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and our 
horses. The man of the house had, it seems, been formerly 
a servant in the Knight's family ; and, to do honor to his 
old master, had some time since, unknown to Sir Roger, put 
him up in a sign-post before the door ; so that the Knight's 
head had hung out upon the road about a week before he him- 
self knew anything of the matter. As soon as Sir Roger was 
acquainted with it, finding that his servant's indiscretion 
proceeded wholly from affection and goodwill, he only told 
him that he had made him too high a compliment ; and 
when the fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, added, 
with a more decisive look, that it was too great an honor for 
any man under a duke ; but told him at the same time that 
it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he 
himself would be at the charge of it. Accordingly they 
got a painter, by the Knight's directions, to add a pair of 
whiskers to the face, and by a little aggravation of the feat- 
ures to change it into the Saracen's Head. I should not 
have known this story had not the inn-keeper, upon Sir 



52 Select Essays of Addison. 

Koger's alighting, told him in my hearing, that his honor's 
head was brought back last night with the alterations that 
he had ordered to be made in it. Upon this, my friend, 
with his usual cheerfulness, related .the particulars above 
mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into the 
room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions 
of mirth than ordinary upon the appearance of this mon- 
strous face, under which, notwithstanding it was made 
to frown and stare in a most extraordinary manner, I could 
still discover a distant resemblance of m}^ old friend. Sir 
Roger, upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly 
if I thought it possible for people to know him in that 
disguise. I at first kept my usual silence; but upon the 
Knight's conjuring me to tell him whether it was not still 
more like himself than a Saracen, I composed my counte- 
nance in the best manner I could, and replied that much 
might be said on both sides. 

These several adventures, with the Knight's behavior in 
them, gave me as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any 
of my travels. 



Spectator No. 125. Sir Roger tells a story of his boyhood, which 
leads the Spectator to discuss the evils of party-spirit. 

My worthy friend Sir Roger, when we are talking of the 
malice of parties, very frequently tells us an accident that 
happened to him when he was a school-boy, which was at a 
time when the feuds ran high between the round-heads and 
cavaliers. This worthy knight, being then but a stripling, 
had occasion to inquire which was the way to St. Anne's 
lane ; upon which the person whom he spoke to, instead of 
answering his question, called him a young Popish cur, and 
asked him who had made Anne a saint ! The boy, being in 
some confusion, inquired of the next he met, which was the 
way to Anne's lane; but was called a prick-eared cur for 



Party-Spirit. 63 

his pains, and instead of being shown the way, was told, 
that she had been a saint before he was born, and would be 
one after he was hanged. Upon this, says Sir Roger, I did 
not think fit to repeat the former question, but going into 
every lane of the neighborhood, asked what they called the 
name of that lane. By which ingenious artifice he found 
out the place he inquired after, without giving offence to 
any party. Sir Roger generally closes this narrative with 
reflections on the mischief that parties do in the country ; 
how they spoil good neighborhood, and make honest gentle- 
men hate one another ; besides that they manifestly tend to 
the prejudice of the land-tax, and the destruction of the 
game. 

There cannot a greater judgment befall a country than 
such a dreadful spirit of division as rends a government into 
two distinct people, and makes them greater strangers and 
more averse to one another, than if they were actually two 
different nations. The effects of such a division are perni- 
cious to the last degree, not only with regard to those advan- 
tages which they give the common enemy, but to those 
private evils which they produce in the heart of almost 
every particular person. This influence is very fatal both 
to men's morals and their understandings ; it sinks the 
virtue of a nation, and not only so, but destroys even com- 
mon sense. 

A furious party -spirit, when it rages in its full violence, 
exerts itself in civil war and bloodshed; and, when it is 
under its greatest restraints, naturally breaks out in false- 
hood, detraction, calumny, and a partial administration of 
justice. In a word, it fills a nation with spleen and rancor, 
and extinguishes all the seeds of good-nature, compassion, 
and humanity. 

Plutarch says very finely, that a man should not allow 
himself to hate even his enemies, because, says he, " if you 
indulge this passion on some occasions, it will rise of itself 



54 Select Essays of Addison. 

in others ; if you hate your enemies, you will contract such 
a vicious habit of mind, as by degrees will break out upon 
those who are your friends, or those who are indifferent to 
you." I might here observe how admirably this precept of 
morality (which derives the malignity of hatred from the 
passion itself, and not from its object) answers to that 
great rule which was dictated to the world about an hun- 
dred years before this philosopher wrote ; but instead of 
that, I shall only take notice, with a real grief of heart, 
that the minds of many good men among us appear soured 
with party-principles, and alienated from one another in 
such a manner, as seems to me altogether inconsistent with 
the dictates either of reason or religion. Zeal for a public 
cause is apt to breed passions in the hearts of virtuous per- 
sons, to which the regard of their own private interest would 
never have betrayed them. 

If this party-spirit has so ill an effect on our morals, it 
has likewise a very great one upon our judgments. We 
often hear a poor insipid pax:)er or pamphlet cried up, and 
sometimes a noble piece depreciated, by those who are of a 
different principle from the author. One who is actuated 
by this spirit is almost under an incapacity of discerning 
either real blemishes or beauties. A man of merit in a dif- 
ferent principle, is like an object seen in two different 
mediums, that appears crooked or broken, however straight 
and entire it may be in itself. For this reason there is 
scarce a person of any figure in England who does not go 
by two contrary characters, as opposite to one another as 
light and darkness. Knowledge and learning suffer in a 
particular manner from this strange prejudice, which at 
present prevails amongst all ranks and degrees in the Brit- 
ish nation. As men formerly became eminent in learned 
societies by their parts and acquisitions, they now dis- 
tinguish themselves by the warmth and violence with which 
they espouse their respective parties. Books are valued 



Party-Spirit, 55 

upon the like considerations : an abusive scurrilous style 
passes for satire, and a dull scheme of party notions is 
called fine writing. 

There is one piece of sophistry practised by both sides, 
and that is the taking any scandalous story, that has been 
ever whispered or invented of a private man, for a known 
undoubted truth, and raising suitable speculations upon it. 
Calumnies that have been never proved, or have been often 
refuted, are the ordinary postulatums of these infamous 
scribblers, upon which they proceed as upon first principles 
granted by all men, though in their hearts they know they 
are false, or at best very doubtful. When they have 
laid these foundations of scurrility, it is no wonder that 
their superstructure is every way answerable to them. If 
this shameless practice of the present age endures much 
longer, praise and reproach will cease to be motives of 
action in good men. 

For my own part, I could heartily wish that all honest 
men would enter into an association, for the support of one 
another against the endeavors of those whom they ought to 
look upon as their common enemies, whatsoever side they 
may belong to. Were there such an honest body of neutral 
forces, we should never see the worst of men in great 
figures of life, because they are useful to a party ; nor the 
best unregarded, because they are above practising those 
methods which would be grateful to their faction. We 
should then single every criminal out of the herd, and hunt 
him down, however formidable and overgrown he might 
appear : on the contrary, we should shelter distressed inno- 
cence, and defend virtue, however beset with contempt or 
ridicule, envy or defamation. In short, we should not any 
longer regard our fellow-subjects as Whigs or Tories, but 
should make the man of merit our friend, and the villain 
our enemy. 



66 Select Essays of Addison. 

Spectator No. 126. Strictures on party-spirit continued. 

In my yesterday's paper I prox^osed, that the honest men 
of all parties should enter into a kind of association for the 
defence of one another, and the confusion of their common 
enemies. As it is designed this neutral body should act 
with a regard to nothing but truth and equity, and divest 
themselves of the little heats and prepossessions that cleave 
to parties of all kinds, I have prepared for them the follow- 
ing form of an association, which may express their inten- 
tions in the most plain and simple manner. 

We whose names are hereunto subscribed, do solemnly declare, 
that we do in our consciences believe two and two make four ; and 
that we shall adjudge any man whatsoever to be our enemy who 
endeavors to persuade us to the contrary. We are likewise ready to 
maintain with the hazard of all that is near and dear to us, that six 
is less than seven in all times and all places ; and that ten will not 
be more three years hence than it is at present. We do also firmly 
declare, that it is our resolution as long as we live to call black black, 
and white white. And we shall upon all occasions oppose such per- 
sons that upon any day of the year shall call black white, or white 
black, with the utmost peril of our lives and fortunes. 

Were there such a combination of honest men, who with- 
out any regard to places would endeavor to extirpate all 
such furious zealots as would sacrifice one-half of their 
country to the passion and interest of the other ; as also 
such infamous hypocrites, that are for promoting their own 
advantage under color of the public good ; with all the prof- 
ligate immoral retainers to each side, that have nothing 
to recommend them but an implicit submission to their 
leaders ; we should soon see that furious party-spirit extin- 
guished, which may in time expose iis to the derision and 
contempt of all the nations about us. 

A member of this society, that would thus carefully 
employ himself in making room for merit, by throwing 
down the worthless and depraved part of mankind from 



Party-Spirit. 57 

those conspicuous stations of life to which they have been 
sometimes advanced, and all this without any regard to his 
private interest, would be no small benefactor to his coun- 
try. 

I remember to have read in Diodorus Siculus an account 
of a very active little animal, which I think he calls ichneu- 
mon, that makes it the whole business of his life to break 
the eggs of the crocodile, which he is always in search after. 
This instinct is the more remarkable, because the ichneumon 
never feeds upon the eggs he has broken, nor any other 
way finds his account in them. Were it not for the inces- 
sant labors of this industrious animal, Egypt, says the his- 
torian, would be over-run with crocodiles ; for the Egyptians 
are so far from destroying those pernicious creatures, that 
they worship them as gods. 

If we look into the behavior of ordinary partisans, we 
shall find them far from resembling this disinterested ani- 
mal ; and rather acting after the example of the wild Tar- 
tars, who are ambitious of destroying a man of the most 
extraordinary parts and accomplishments, as thinking that 
upon his decease, the same talents, whatever posts they 
qualified him for, enter of course into his destroyer. 

I do not know whether T have observed in any of my for- 
mer papers, that my friends Sir Koger de Coverley and Sir 
Andrew Freeport are of different principles, the first of 
them inclined to the landed and the other to the monied 
interest. This humor is so moderate in each of them, that 
it proceeds no farther than to an agreeable raillery, which 
very often diverts the rest of the club. I find, however, 
that the Knight is a much stronger Tory in the country than 
in the town, which, as he has told me in my ear, is absolutely 
necessary for the keeping up his interest. In all our jour- 
ney from London to his house we did not so much as bait at 
a Whig inn : or if by chance the coach-man stopped at a 
wrong place, one of Sir Eoger's servants would ride up to 



58 Select Essays of Addison. 

his master full speed, and whisper to him that the master 
of the house was against such a one in the last election. 
This often betrayed us into hard beds and bad cheer ; for 
we were not so inquisitive about the inn as the inn-keeper ; 
and provided our landlord's principles were sound, did not 
take any notice of the staleness of his provisions. This I 
found still the more inconvenient, because the better the 
host was, the worse generally were his accommodations ; the 
fellow knowing very well that those who were his friends 
would take up with coarse diet and hard lodging. For these 
reasons, all the while I was upon the road I dreaded enter- 
ing into an house of any one that Sir Eoger had applauded 
for an honest man. 

Since my stay at Sir Eoger's in the country, I daily find 
more instances of this narrow party -humor. Being upon a 
bowling-green at a neighboring market-town the other day 
(for that is the place where the gentlemen of one side meet 
once a week), I observed a stranger among them of a better 
presence and genteeler behavior than ordinary ; but was 
much surprised, that notwithstanding he was a very fair 
better, nobody would take him up. But upon inquiry I 
found, that he was one who had given a disagreeable vote 
in a former parliament, for which reason there was not a 
man upon that bowling-green who would have so much cor- 
respondence with him as to win his money of him. 

Among other instances of this nature, I must not omit 
one which concerns myself. Will AVimble was the other 
day relating several strange stories that he had picked up, 
nobody knows where, of a certain great man ; and upon my 
staring at him, as one that was surprised to hear such 
things in the country, which had never been so much as 
whispered in the town. Will stopped short in the thread of 
his discourse, and after dinner asked my friend Sir Roger 
in his ear, if he were sure that I was not a fanatic. 

It gives me a serious concern to see such a spirit of dissen- 



ASVr Roger and the Cri/jJsies. 59 

sion in the country ; not only as it destroys virtue and com- 
mon sense, and renders us in a manner barbarians towards 
one another, but as it perpetuates our animosities, widens 
our breaches, and transmits our present passions and preju- 
dices to our posterity. For my own part, I am sometimes 
afraid that I discover the seeds of a civil war in these our 
divisions ; and therefore cannot but bewail, as in their first 
principles, the miseries and calamities of our children. 



Spectator No. 130. Sir Roger and the gypsies. 

As I was yesterday riding out in the fields with my friend 
Sir Eoger, we saw at a little distance from us a troop of 
gypsies. Upon the first discovering of them, my friend was 
in some doubt Avhether he should not exert the Justice of the 
peace upon such a band of lawless vagrants ; but not having 
his clerk with him, who is a necessary counsellor on those 
occasions, and fearing that his poultry might fare the worse 
for it, he let the thought drop : but at the same time gave 
me a particular account of the mischiefs they do in the 
country, in stealing people's goods and spoiling their ser- 
vants. "If a stray piece of linen hangs upon an hedge," 
says Sir Koger, " they are sure to have it ; if a hog loses his 
way in the fields, it is ten to one but he becomes their prey ; 
our geese cannot live in peace for them : if a man prosecutes 
them with severity, his henroost is sure to pay for it. They 
generally straggle into these parts about this time of the 
year; and set the heads of our servant-maids so agog for 
husbands, that we do not expect to have any business done 
as it should be whilst they are in the country. I have an 
honest dairy-maid who crosses their hands with a piece of 
silver every summer, and never fails being promised the 
handsomest young fellow in the parish for her pains. Your 
friend the butler has been fool enough to be seduced by 



60 Select Essays of Addison. 

them ; and, though he is sure to lose a knife, a fork, or a 
spoon every time his fortune is told him, generally shuts 
himself up in the pantry with an old gypsy for above half 
an hour once in a twelvemonth. Sweet-hearts are the things 
they live upon, which they bestow very plentifully upon all 
those that apply themselves to them. You see now and then 
some handsome young jades among them : the girls have 
very often white teeth and black eyes." 

Sir Eoger observing that I listened with great attention 
to his account of a people who were so entirely new to me, 
told me, that if I would they should tell us our fortunes. 

As I was very well pleased with the Knight's proposal, 
we rid up and communicated our hands to them. A Cas- 
sandra of the crew, after having examined my lines very 
diligently, told me, that I was a good woman's man, with 
some other particulars which I do not think proper to relate. 
My friend Sir Roger alighted from his horse, and exposing 
his palm to two or three of them that stood by him, they 
crumpled it into all shapes, and diligently scanned every 
wrinkle that could be made in it; when one of them who 
was elder and more sun-burnt than the rest, told him, that 
he had a widow in his line of life ; upon which the Knight 
cried, " Go, go, you are an idle baggage " ; and at the same 
time smiled upon me. The gypsy finding he was not dis- 
pleased in his heart, told him after a farther inquiry into 
his hand, that his true love was constant, and that she 
should dream of him to-night : my old friend cried, ^^ Pish," 
and bid her go on. The gypsy told him that he was a 
bachelor, but would not be so long ; and that he was dearer 
to somebody than he thought ; the Knight still repeated that 
she was an idle baggage, and bid her go on. "Ah master," 
says the gypsy, "that roguish leer of yours makes a pretty 
woman's heart ache ; you han't that simper about the mouth 
for nothing." The uncouth gibberish with which all this 
was uttered, like the darkness of an oracle, made us the 



The Spectator returns to London. 61 

more attentive to it. To be short, the Knight left the money 
with her that he had crossed her hand with, and got up 
again on his horse. 

As we were riding away. Sir Koger told me, that he knew 
several sensible people who believed these gypsies now and 
then foretold very strange things ; and for half an hour 
together appeared more jocund than ordinary. In the 
height of his good humor, meeting a common beggar upon 
the road who was no conjuror, as he went to relieve him, 
he found his pocket was picked ; that being a kind of 
palmistry at which this race of vermin are very dexterous. 



Spectator No. 131. The Spectator sees reasons why he had better 
return to town. 

It is usual for a man who loves country sports to preserve 
the game in his own grounds, and divert himself upon those 
that belong to his neighbor. My friend Sir Eoger generally 
goes two or three miles from his house, and gets into the 
frontiers of his estate, before he beats about in search of a 
hare or partridge, on purpose to spare his own fields, where 
he is always sure of finding diversion when the worst comes 
to the worst. By this means the breed about his house has 
time to increase and multiply ; besides that the sport is the 
more agreeable where the game is the harder to come at, 
and where it does not lie so thick as to produce any per- 
plexity or confusion in the pursuit. For these reasons the 
country gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys near his own 
home. 

In the same manner I have made a month's excursion out 
of the town, which is the great field of game for sportsmen 
of my species, to try my fortune in the country, where I 
have started several subjects, and hunted them down, with 
some pleasure to myself, and I hope to others. I am here 



62 Select Essays of Addison. 

forced to use a great deal of diligence before I can spring 
anything to my mind ; whereas in town, whilst I am follow- 
ing one character, it is ten to one but I am crossed in my 
way by another, and put up such a variety of odd creatures 
in both sexes, that they foil the scent of one another, and 
puzzle the chase. My greatest difficulty in the country is 
to find sport, and, in town, to choose it. In the meantime, 
as I have given a whole month's rest to the cities of London 
and Westminster, I promise myself abundance of new game 
upon my return thither. 

It is indeed higli time for me to leave the country, since 
I find the whole neighborhood begin to grow very inquisi- 
tive after my name and character ; my love of solitude, 
taciturnity, and particular way of life having raised a great 
curiosity in all these parts. 

The notions which have been framed of me are various : 
some look upon me as very proud, some as very modest, 
and some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, as my friend 
the butler tells me, observing me very much alone, and 
extremely silent when I am in company, is afraid I have 
killed a man. The country people seem to suspect me 
for a conjuror; and, some of them hearing of the visit 
which I made to Moll White, will needs have it that Sir 
Eoger has brought down a cunning man with him, to cure 
the old woman, and free the country from her charms. So 
that the character which I go under in part of the neighbor- 
hood, is what they here call a " white witch," 

A justice of peace, who lives about five miles off, and is 
not of Sir Roger's party, has, it seems, said twice or thrice 
at his table, that he wishes Sir Roger does not harbor a 
Jesuit in his house, and that he thinks the gentlemen of 
the country would do very well to make me give some 
account of myself. 

On the other side, some of Sir Roger's friends are afraid 
the old Knight is imposed upon by a designing fellow, and 



Sir Roger in Town. 63 

as they have heard that he converses very promiscuously, 
when he is in town, do not know but he has brought down 
with him some discarded Whig, that is sullen and says 
nothing because he is out of place. 

Such is the variety of opinions which are here enter- 
tained of me, so that I pass among some for a disaffected 
person, among some for a wizard, and among others for 
a murderer ; and all this for no other reason, that I can 
imagine, but because I do not hoot and holloa and make a 
noise. It is true, my friend Sir Roger tells them, that it is 
my way, and that I am only a philosopher ; but this will 
not satisfy them. They think there is more in me than he 
discovers, and that I do not hold my tongue for nothing. 

For these and other reasons I shall set out for London 
to-morrow, having found by experience that the country 
is not a place for a person of my temper, who does not 
love jollity, and what they call good neighborhood. A man 
that is out of humor when an unexpected guest breaks in 
upon him, and does not care for sacrificing an afternoon to 
every chance-comer, that will be the master of his own 
time, and the pursuer of his own inclinations, makes but a 
very unsociable figure in this kind of life. I shall therefore 
retire into the town, if I may make use of that phrase, and 
get into the crowd again as fast as I can, in order to be 
alone. I can there raise what speculations I please upon 
others, without being observed myself, and at the same 
time enjoy all the advantages of company with all the 
privileges of solitude. 



Spectator No. 269. Sh- Roger in town. 

I was this morning surprised with a great knocking at the 
door, when my landlady's daughter came up to me, and 
told me that there was a man below desired to speak with 



64 Select Essays of Addison. 

me. Upon my asking her who it was, she told me it was 
a very grave elderly person, but that she did not know his 
name. I immediately went down to him, and found him to 
be the coachman of my worthy friend Sir Eoger de Coverley. 
He told me that his master came to town last night, and 
would be glad to take a turn with me in Gray's Inn Walks. 
As I was wondering in myself what had brought Sir Roger 
to town, not having lately received any letter from him, he 
told me that his master was come up to get a sight of 
Prince Eugene, and that he desired I would immediately 
meet him. 

I was not a little pleased with the curiosity of the old 
Knight, though I did not much wonder at it, having heard 
him say more than once in private discourse, that he looked 
upon Prince Eugenio (for so the Knight always calls him) 
to be a greater man than Scanderbeg. 

I was no sooner come into Gray's Inn Walks, but I heard 
my friend upon the terrace hemming twice or thrice to 
himself with great vigor, for he loves to clear his pipes in 
good air (to make use of his own phrase), and is not a lit- 
tle pleased with any one who takes notice of the strength 
which he still exerts in his morning hems. 

I was touched with a secret joy at the sight of the good 
old man, who before he saw me was engaged in conversation 
with a beggar-man that had asked an alms of him, I could 
hear my friend chide him for not finding out some work ; 
but at the same time saw him put his hand in his pocket 
and give him six-pence. 

Our salutations were very hearty on both sides, consist- 
ing of many kind shakes of the hand, and several affection- 
ate looks which we cast upon one another. After which 
the Knight told me my good friend his chaplain was very 
well, and much at my service, and that the Sunday before 
he had made a most incomparable sermon out of Doctor 
Barrow. "I have left," says he, "all my affairs in his 



Sir Roger in Town, 65 

hands, and being willing to lay an obligation upon him, 
have deposited with him thirty marks, to be distributed 
among his poor parishioners." 

He then proceeded to acquaint me with the welfare of 
Will Wimble. Upon which he put his hand into his fob 
and presented me in his name with a tobacco- stopper, tell- 
ing me that Will had been busy all the beginning of the 
winter, in turning great quantities of them ; and that he 
made a present of one to every gentleman in the country 
who has good principles, and smokes. He added, that poor 
Will was at x^resent under great tribulation, for that Tom 
Touchy had taken the law of him for cutting some hazel 
sticks out of one of his hedges. 

Among other pieces of news which the Knight brought 
from his country seat, he informed me that Moll White 
was dead; and that about a month after her death the 
wind was so very high, that it blew down the end of one of 
his barns. " But for my own part," says Sir Roger, ^' I do 
not think that the old woman had any hand in it." 

He afterwards fell into an account of the diversions 
which had passed in his house during the holidays ; for Sir 
Roger, after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always 
keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from him that 
he had killed eight fat hogs for this season, that he had 
dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbors, 
and that in particular he had sent a string of hogs-puddings 
with a pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. 
"I have often thought," says Sir Roger, "it happens very 
well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of winter. 
It is the most dead uncomfortable time of the year, when 
the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty 
and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christ- 
mas gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor 
hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in 
my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my 



66 Select Essays of Addison, 

small beer, and set it a running for twelve days to every one 
that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a 
mince-pie upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to 
see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their 
innocent tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend 
Will Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shows a thou- 
sand roguish tricks upon these occasions." 

I was very much delighted with the reflection of my old 
friend, which carried so much goodness in it. He then 
launched out into the praise of the late Act of Parliament 
for securirig the Church of England, and told me, with great 
satisfaction, that he believed it already began to take effect, 
for that a rigid Dissenter, who chanced to dine at his house 
on Christmas day, had been observed to eat very plentifully 
of his plum-porridge. 

After having dispatched all our country matters. Sir 
Roger made several inquiries concerning the club, and par- 
ticularly of his old antagonist. Sir Andrew Freeport. He 
asked me with a kind of a smile whether Sir Andrew had 
not taken the advantage of his absence to vent among them 
some of his republican doctrines ; but soon after, gathering 
up his countenance into a more than ordinary seriousness, 
" Tell me truly," says he, '• don't you think Sir Andrew had 
a hand in the Pope's Procession ? " — but without giving 
me time to answer him, "Well, well," says he, "I know 
you are a wary man, and do not care to talk of public 
matters." 

The Knight then asked me if I had seen Prince Eugenio, 
and made me promise to get him a stand in some convenient 
place where he might have a full sight of that extraordi- 
nary man, whose presence does so much honor to the Brit- 
ish nation. He dwelt very long on the praises of this 
great general, and I found that, since I was with him in 
the country, he had drawn many observations together out 
of his reading in Baker's Chronicle, and other authors, who 



Sir Roger in Westminster Abbey. 67 

always lie in his hall window, which very much redound to 
the honor of this prince. 

Having passed away the greatest part of the morning in 
hearing the Knight's reflections, which were partly private, 
and partly political, he asked me if I would smoke a pipe 
with him over a dish of coffee at Squire's. As I love the 
old man, I take delight in complying with every thing that 
is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the 
coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the 
eyes of the whole room. He had no sooner seated himself 
at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean 
pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax-candle, and 
the Supplement, with such an air of cheerfulness and good- 
humor, that all the boys in the coffee-room (who seemed to 
take pleasure in serving him) were at once employed on his 
several errands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a 
dish of tea, till the Knight had got all his conveniences 
about him. 



Spectator No. 329. Sir Rogej- visits Weshninster Abbey. 

My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other night 
that he had been reading my paper upon Westminster 
Abbey, in which, says he, there are a great many ingenious 
fancies. He told me, at the same time, that he observed I 
had promised another paper upon the tombs, and that he 
should be glad to go and see them with me, not having vis- 
ited them since he had read history. I could not at first 
imagine how this came into the Knight's head, till I recol- 
lected that he had been very busy all last summer upon 
Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted several times in his 
disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport since his last coming to 
town. Accordingly, I promised to call upon him the next 
morning, that we might go together to the Abbey. 

I found the Knight under his butler's hands, who always 



68 Select Essays of Addison. 

shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for 
a glass of the Widow Trueby's water^ which he told me he 
always drank before he went abroad. He recommended to 
me a dram of it at the same time with so much heartiness, 
that I could not forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got 
it down, I found it very unpalatable ; upon which the 
Knight, observing that I had made several wry faces, told 
me that he knew I should not like it at first, but that it 
was the best thing in the world against the stone or gravel. 

I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me 
with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to com- 
plain, and I knew what he had done was out of good will. 
Sir Eoger told me, further, that he looked upon it to be 
very good for a man whilst he stayed in town, to keep off 
infection ; and that he got together a quantity of it upon 
the first news of the sickness being at Dantzic. When of a 
sudden turning short to one of his servants, who stood be- 
hind him, he bade him call a hacknej^-coach, and take care 
it was an elderly man that drove it. 

He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's water, 
telling me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more 
good than all the doctors and apothecaries in the country; 
that she distilled every poppy that grew within five miles 
of her; that she distributed her water gratis among all 
sorts of people : to which the Knight added, that she had a 
very great jointure, and that the whole country would fain 
have it a match between him and her ; " And truly," said 
Sir Roger, " if I had not been engaged, perhaps I could not 
have done better." 

His discourse was broken off by his man telling him he 
had called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast 
his eye upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axle- 
tree was good ; upon the fellow telling him he would war- 
rant it, the Knight turned to me, told me he looked like an 
honest man, and went in without further ceremony. 



Sir .Roger m Westminster Abbey. 69 

We had not gone far, when Sir Roger, popping out his 
head, called the coachman down from his box, and upon 
his presenting himself at the window, asked him if he 
smoked : as I was considering what this would end in, he 
bade him stop by the way at any good tobacconist's, and 
take in a roll of their best Virginia. Nothing material hap- 
pened in the remaining part of our journey till we were set 
down at the west end of the Abbey. 

As we went up the body of the church, the Knight pointed 
at the trophies upon one of the new monuments, and cried 
out, " A brave man, I warrant him ! " Passing afterwards 
by Sir Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and 
cried, " Sir Cloudesley Shovel, a very gallant man ! " As 
we stood before Busby's tomb, the Knight uttered himself 
again after the same manner, — "Dr. Busby — a great man ! 
he whipped my grandfather — a very great man ! I should 
have gone to him myself if I had not been a blockhead — a 
very great man!" 

We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on 
the right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself at our histo- 
rian's elbow, was very attentive to every thing he said, par- 
ticularly to the account he gave us of the lord who had ciit 
off the King of Morocco's head. Among several other 
figures, he was very well pleased to see the statesman Cecil 
upon his knees ; and, concluding them all to be great men, 
was conducted to the figure which represents that martyr to 
good housewifery, who died by the prick of a needle. Upon 
our interpreter telling us that she was a maid of honor to 
Queen Elizabeth, the Knight was very inquisitive into her 
name and family ; and, after having regarded her finger for 
some time, " I wonder," says he, " that Sir Richard Baker 
has said nothing of her in his Chronicle." 

We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, 
where my old friend, after having heard that the stone 
underneath the most ancient of them, which was brought 



70 Select Essays of Addison. 

from Scotland, was called Jacob's Pillar, sat himself down 
in the chair ; and, looking like the figure of an old Gothic 
king, asked our interpreter what authority they had to say 
that Jacob had ever been in Scotland. The fellow, instead 
of returning him an answer, told him that he hoped his 
honor would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir Eoger a 
little ruiEed upon being thus trepanned ; but, our guide not 
insisting upon his demand, the Knight soon recovered his 
good humor, and whispered in my ear that if Will Wimble 
were with us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard 
but he would get a tobacco-stopper out of one or t'other of 
them. 

Sir Eoger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward 
the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, gave 
us the whole history of the Black Prince ; concluding that, 
in Sir Richard Baker's opinion, Edward the Third was one 
of the greatest princes that ever sat upon the English 
throne. 

We were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon 
which Sir Roger acquainted us that he was the first who. 
touched for the evil, and afterwards Henry the Fourth's, 
Upon which he shook his head, and told us that there was 
fine reading in the casualties of that reign. 

Our conductor then pointed to that monument where 
there is the figure of one of . our English kings without a 
head; and upon giving us to know that the head, which 
was of beaten silver, had been stolen away several years 
since, " Some Whig, I'll warrant you," says Sir Roger : " you 
ought to lock up your kings better ; they will carry off the 
body too if you don't take care." 

The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Eliza- 
beth gave the Knight great opportunities of shining and of 
doing justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our Knight ob- 
served with some surprise, had a great many kings in him 
whose monuments he had not seen in the Abbey. 



Sir Roger at the Theatre. 71 

For my own part, I could not but be pleased to see tlie 
Knight show such an honest passion for the glory of his 
country, and such a respectful gratitude to the memory of 
its princes. 

I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old 
friend, which flows out towards every one he converses 
with, made him very kind to our interpreter, whom he 
looked upon as an extraordinary man; for which reason 
he shook him by the hand at parting, telling him that he 
should be very glad to see him at his lodgings in Norfolk 
Buildings, and talk over these matters with him more at 
leisure. 



Spectator No. 335. Sir Roger goes to the play. 

My friend Sir Koger de Coverley, when we last met to- 
gether at the club, told me that he had a great mind to see 
the new tragedy with me, assuring me, at the same time, 
that he had not been at a play these twenty years. " The 
last I saw," said Sir Eoger, " was the ' Committee,' which I 
should not have gone to neither, had not I been told before- 
hand that it was a good Church of England comedy.'' He 
then proceeded to inquire of me who this distressed mother 
was, and, upon hearing that she was Hector's widow, he 
told me that her husband was a brave man, and that when 
he was a school-boy, he had read his life at the end of the 
dictionary. My friend asked me, in the next place, if there 
would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the 
Mohocks should be abroad. '• I assure you," says he, " I 
thought I had fallen into their hands last night, for I ob- 
served two or three lusty black men that followed me half 
way up Fleet Street, and mended their pace behind me in 
proportion as I put on to get away from them. You must 
know," continued the Knight with a smile, " I fancied they 
had a mind to hunt me, for I remember an honest gentleman 



72 Select Essays of Addison, 

ill my neighborhood who was served such a trick in King 
Charles the Second's time ; for which reason he has not ven- 
tured himself in town ever since. I might have shown them 
very good sport had this been their design ; for, as I am an 
old fox-hunter, I should have turned and dodged, and have 
played them a thousand tricks they had never seen in their 
lives before." Sir Roger added that if these gentlemen 
had any such intention they did not succeed very well in 
it; "for I threw them out," says he, "at the end of Norfolk 
Street, where I doubled the corner and got shelter in my 
lodgings before they could imagine what was become of me. 
However," says the Knight, " if Captain Sentry will make 
one with us to-morrow night, and if you will both of you 
call upon me about four o'clock, that we may be at the 
house before it is full, I will have my own coach in readi- 
ness to attend you, for John tells me he has got the fore 
wheels mended." 

The captain, who did not fail to meet me there at the 
appointed hour, bid Sir E-oger fear nothing, for that he had 
put on the same sword which he made use of at the battle 
of Steenkirk. Sir Eoger's servants, and among the rest my 
old friend the butler, had, I found, provided themselves 
with good oaken plants to attend their master upon this 
occasion. When we had placed hiin in his coach, with my- 
self at his left hand, the captain before him, and his butler 
at the head of his footmen in the rear, we convoyed him 
in safety to the playhouse, where, after having marched up 
the entry in good order, the captain and I went in with him, 
and seated him betwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house 
was full, and the candles lighted, my old friend stood up 
and looked about him with that pleasure which a mind 
seasoned with humanity naturally feels at the sight of a 
multitude of people who seem pleased with one another, 
and partake of the same common entertainment. I could 
not but fancy to myself, as the old man stood up in the 



Sir Roger at the Theatre, 73 

middle of the pit, that he made a very proper centre to a 
tragic audience. Upon the entering of Pyrrhus, the Knight 
told me that he did not believe the King of France himself 
had a better strut. I was, indeed, very attentive to my old 
friend's remarks, because I looked upon them as a piece of 
natural criticism ; and was well pleased to hear him, at the 
conclusion of almost every scene, telling me that he could 
not imagine how the play Avould end. One while he ap- 
peared much concerned for Andromache ; and a little while 
after as much for Hermione ; and was extremely puzzled to 
think what would become of Pyrrhus. 

When Sir Koger saw Andromache's obstinate refusal to 
her lover's importunities, he whispered me in the ear, that 
he was sure she would never have him ; to which he added, 
with a more than ordinary vehemence, " You can't imagine, 
Sir, what 'tis to have to do with a widow." Upon Pyrrhus's 
threatening afterwards to leave her, the Knight shook his 
head, and muttered to himself, ^* Ay, do if you can." This 
part dwelt so much upon my friend's imagination, that at 
the close of the third act, as I was thinking of something 
else, he whispered me in my ear, " These widows. Sir, are 
the most perverse creatures in the world. But pray," says he, 
^'you that are a critic, is the play according to ;four dramatic 
rules, as you call them ? Should your people in tragedy 
always talk to be understood ? Why, there is not a single 
sentence in this play that I do not know the meaning of." 

The fourth act very luckily began before I had time 
to give the old gentleman an answer : " Well," says the 
Knight, sitting down with great satisfaction, " I suppose 
we are now to see Hector's ghost." He then renewed his 
attention, and, from time to time, fell a praising the widow. 
He made, indeed, a little mistake as to one of her pages, 
whom at his first entering he took for Astyanax ; but 
quickly set himself right in that particular, though, at the 
same time, he owned he should have been very glad to have 



74 Select Essays of Addison. 

seen tlie little boy, ^^-wlio," says he, "must needs be a very 
fine child by the account that is given of him." Upon 
Hermione's going off with a menace to Pj^rrhus, the audience 
gave a loud clap, to which Sir Roger added, " On my word, 
a notable young baggage ! " 

As there was a very remarkable silence and stiffness in 
the audience during the Avhole action, it was natural for 
them to take the opportunity of these intervals between 
the acts to express their opinion of the players and of their 
respective parts. Sir Roger hearing a cluster of them praise 
Orestes, struck in with them, and told them that he thought 
his friend Pylades was a very sensible man ; as they were 
afterwards apj^lauding Pyrrhus, Sir Roger put in a second 
time: ^^And let me tell you," says he, "though he speaks 
but little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as Avell as any 
of them." Captain Sentry seeing two or three wags, who 
sat near us, lean with an attentive ear towards Sir Roger, 
and fearing lest they should smoke the Knight, plucked 
him by the elbow, and whispered something in his ear, that 
lasted till the opening of the fifth act. The Knight was 
wonderfully attentive to the account which Orestes gives 
of Pyrrhus's death, and at the conclusion of it, told me 
it was such a bloody piece of work that he was glad it was 
not done upon the stage. Seeing afterwards Orestes in his 
raving fit, he grew more than ordinary serious, and took 
occasion to moralize (in his way) upon an evil conscience, 
adding, that Orestes, in his madness, looked as if he saw 
something. 

As we were the first that came into the house, so we were 
the last that went out of it ; being resolved to have a clear 
passage for our old friend, whom we did not care to venture 
among the jostling of the crowd. Sir Roger went out fully 
satisfied with his entertainment, and we guarded him to his 
lodging in the same manner that we brought him to the 
playhouse ; being highly pleased, for my own part, not only 



Sir Roger at Vauxhall Grardens. 75 

with the performance of the excellent piece which had been 
presented, but with the satisfaction which it had given to 
the old man. 



Spectator No. 383. Sir Roger and the Spectator go hy loater to 
Vauxhall Gardens. 

As I was sitting in my chamber and thinking on a sub- 
ject for my next Spectator, I heard two or three irregu- 
lar bounces at my landlady's door, and upon the opening of 
it, a loud cheerful voice inquiring whether the philosopher 
was at home. The child who Avent to the door answered 
very innocently, that he did not lodge there. I immediately 
recollected that it was my good friend Sir Eoger's voice ; 
and that I had promised to go with him on the water to 
Spring Gardens, in case it proved a good evening. The 
Knight put me in mind of my promise from the bottom of 
the stair-case, but told me that if I was speculating he 
would stay below till I had done. Upon my coming 
down, I found all the children of the family got about my 
old friend, and my landlady herself, who is a notable 
prating gossip, engaged in a conference with him, being 
mightily pleased with his stroking her little boy upon the 
head, and bidding him be a good child, and mind his book. 

We were no sooner come to the Temple Stairs, but we 
were surrounded with a crowd of watermen, offering us 
their respective services. Sir Eoger, after having looked 
about him very attentively, spied one with a wooden leg, 
and immediately gave him orders to get his boat ready. 
As we were walking towards it, ^^You must know," says 
Sir Eoger, "I never make use of any body to row me, that 
has not either lost a leg or an arm. I would rather bate 
liim a few strokes of his oar than not employ an honest 
man that has been wounded in the Queen's service. If I 



76 Select Essays of Addison. 

was a lord or a bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a 
fellow in my livery that had not a wooden leg/^ 

My old friend, after having seated himself, and trimmed 
the boat with his coachman, who being a very sober man, 
always serves for ballast on these occasions, we made the 
best of our way for Vauxhall. Sir Roger obliged the water- 
man to give us the history of his right leg, and hearing that 
he had left it at La Hogue, with many particulars which 
passed in that glorious action, the Knight, in the triumph of 
his heart, made several reflections on the greatness of the 
British nation; as, that one Englishman could beat three 
Frenchmen; that the Thames was the noblest river in 
Europe; that London Bridge was a greater piece of work 
than any of the seven wonders of the world ; with many 
other honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart 
of a true Englishman. 

After some short pause, the old Knight turning about his 
head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great Metrop- 
olis, bid me observe how thick the city was set with 
churches, and that there was scarce a single steeple on this 
side Temple Bar. '^ A most heathenish sight ! " says Sir 
Eoger ; "there is no religion at this end of the town. The 
fifty new churches will very much mend the prospect ; but 
church work is slow, church work is slow ! " 

I do not remember I have any where mentioned, in Sir 
Roger's character, his custom of saluting every body that 
passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This 
the old man does out of the overflowings of his humanity, 
though at the same time it renders him so popular among 
all his country neighbors, that it is thought to have gone a 
good way in making him once or twice knight of the shire. 
He cannot forbear this exercise of benevolence even in town, 
when he meets with any one in his morning or evening 
walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed by us 
upon the water ; but to the Knight's great surprise, as he 



Sir Roger at Vauxhall Grardens. 77 

gave the good-night to two or three young fellows a little 
before our landing, one of them, instead of returning the 
civility, asked us, what queer old put we had in the boat, 
with a great deal of the like Thames ribaldry. Sir Eoger 
seemed a little shocked at first, but at length, assuming a 
face of magistracy, told us that if he were a Middlesex jus- 
tice, he would make such vagrants know that Her Majesty's 
subjects were no more to be abused by water than by land. 

We were now arrived at Spring Gardens, which is exquis- 
itely pleasant at this time of the year. When I considered 
the fragrancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of 
birds that sang upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people 
that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon the 
place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Eoger told me 
it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the 
country, which his chaplain used to call an aviary of night- 
ingales. "You must understand," says the Knight, "there 
is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much 
as your nightingale. Ah, Mr. Spectator ! the many moon- 
light nights that I have walked by myself, and thought on 
the Widow by the music of the nightingale ! " He here 
fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, 
when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap 
upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bot- 
tle of mead with her. But the Knight being startled at so 
unexpected a familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted 
in his thoughts of the Widow, told her she was a wanton 
baggage, and bid her go about her business. 

We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton ale, and a 
slice of hung beef. When we had done eating ourselves, 
the Knight called a waiter to him, and bid him carry the 
remainder to the waterman that had but one leg. I per- 
ceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the 
message, and was going to be saucy ; upon which I ratified 
the Knight's commands with a peremptory look. 



78 Select Essays of Addison, 

Spectator No. 517. The death of Sir Eager. 

We last niglit received a piece of ill news at our club, 
which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question 
not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hear- 
ing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, Sir Eoger 
de Coverley is dead. He departed this life at his house in 
the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Free- 
port has a letter from one of his correspondents in those 
parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the 
county-sessions, as he was very warmly promoting an ad- 
dress of his own penning, in which he succeeded according 
to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig jus- 
tice of peace, who was always Sir Eoger's enemy and antag- 
onist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Captain 
Sentry which mention nothing of it, but are filled with 
many particulars to the honor of the good old man. I 
have likewise a letter from the butler, who took so much 
care of me last summer when I was at the Knight's house. 
As my friend the butler mentions, in the simplicity of his 
heart, several circumstances the others have passed over in 
silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his letter, without 
any alteration or diminution. 

Honored Sir, 

Knowing that you was my old master's good friend, I could not 
forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death, which has 
afflicted the whole country, as well as his poor servants, who loved 
him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught 
his death the last county-sessions, where he would go to see justice 
done to a poor widow woman and her fatherless children, that had 
been wronged by a neighboring gentleman ; for you know, Sir, my 
good master was always the poor man's friend. Upon his coming 
home, the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef 
stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up ac- 
cording to custom ; and you know he used to take great delight in it. 
From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a 



The Death of Sir Roger. 79 

good heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hope of his 
recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the widow 
lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life ; hut 
this only proved a lightning before death. He has bequeathed to this 
lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of sil- 
ver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old lady his 
mother: he has bequeathed the fine white gelding, that he used to 
ride a hunting upon, to his chaplain, because he thought he would be 
kind to him, and has left you all his books. He has, moreover, be- 
queathed to the chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about 
it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourn- 
ing, to every man in the parish, a great frieze coat, and to every 
woman a black riding-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him 
take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, 
whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most 
of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left 
us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortably upon, 
the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more 
in charity, which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it is peremp- 
torily said in the parish that he has left money to build a steeple to 
the church ; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived 
two years longer, Coverley Church should have a steeple to it. The 
chaplain tells everybody that he made a very good end, and never 
speaks of him without tears. He was buried, according to his own 
directions, among the family of the Coverleys, on the left hand of his 
father, Sir Arthur, The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, and 
the pall held up by six of the quorum : the whole parish followed the 
corpse with heavy hearts, and in their mourning suits, the men in 
frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. Captain Sentry, my master's 
nephew, has taken possession of the hall-house and the whole estate. 
When my old master saw him a little before his death he shook him 
by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to 
him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several 
legacies, and the gifts of charity which he told him he had left as quit- 
rents upon the estate. The captain truly seems a courteous man, 
though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my master 
loved, and shows great kindnesses to the old house-dog, that you know 
my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to 
have heard the moans the dumb creature made on the day of my mas- 
ter's death. He has never joyed himself since ; no more has any of 



80 Select Essays of Addison. 

us. 'Twas the melanclioliest day for the poor people that ever hap- 
pened in Worcestershire, Tliis is all from, 

Honored Sir, your most sorrowful Servant, 

Edward Biscuit. 

P.S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book 
which comes up to you by the carrier should be given to Sir Andrew 
Freeport, in his name. 

This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 
writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend, that 
upon the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. 
Sir Andrew opening the book, found it to be a collection of 
Acts of Parliament. There was in particular the Act of 
Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Eoger's 
own hand. Sir Andrew found that they related to two or 
three points, which he had disputed with Sir Eoger the last 
time he appeared at the club. Sir Andrew, who would have 
been merry at such an incident on another occasion, at the 
sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears and 
put the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs us, 
that the Knight has left rings and mourning for every one 
in the club. 



Spectator No. lO. The Spectator commends his papei'S to sundry 
classes of men, and especially to women. 

It is with much satisfaction that I hear this great city 
inquiring, day by day, after these my papers, and receiving 
my morning lectures with a becoming seriousness and atten- 
tion. My publisher tells me that there are already three 
thousand of them distributed every day, so that if I allow 
twenty readers to every paper, which I look upon as a mod- 
est computation, I may reckon about threescore thousand 
disciples in London and Westminster, who I hope will take 
care to distinguish themselves from the thoughtless herd 
of their ignorant and unattentive brethren. Since I have 



The Sjjectator commends Ids Papers. 81 

raised to myself so great an audience, I shall spare no 
pains to make their instruction agreeable, and their diver- 
sion useful. For which reasons I shall endeavor to enliven 
morality with wit, and to temper wit with morality, that 
my readers may, if possible, both ways find their account 
in the speculation of the day. And to the end that their 
virtue and discretion may not be short, transient, intermit- 
ting starts of tliought, I have resolved to refresh, their 
memories from day to day, till I have recovered them out of 
that desperate state of vice and folly into which the age is 
fallen. The mind that lies fallow but a single day, sprouts 
up in follies that are only to be killed by a constant and as- 
siduous culture. It was said of Socrates that he brought 
philosophy down from heaven, to inhabit among men ; and 
I shall be ambitious to have it said of me, that I have 
brought philosophy out of closets and libraries, schools and 
colleges, to dwell in clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and 
in coffee-houses. 

I would, therefore, in a very particular manner, recom- 
mend these my speculations to all well-regulated families, 
that set apart an hour in every morning for tea and bread 
and butter ; and would earnestly advise them for their good, 
to order this paper to be punctually served up, and to be 
looked upon as a part of the tea-equipage. 

Sir Francis Bacon observes, that a well written book, 
compared with its rivals and antagonists, is like Moses's ser- 
pent, that immediately swallowed up and devoured those of 
the Egyptians. I shall not be so vain as to think, that 
where the Spectator appears, the other public prints will 
vanish; but shall leave it to my reader's consideration, 
whether it is not much better to be let into the knowledge 
of one's self, than to hear what passes in Muscovy or Po- 
land ; and to amuse ourselves with such writings as tend to 
the wearing out of ignorance, passion, and prejudice, than 
such as naturally conduce to inflame hatreds, and make en- 
mities irreconcilable. 



82 Select Essays of Addison. 

In the next place, I would recommend this paper to the 
daily perusal of those gentlemen whom I cannot but con- 
sider as my good brothers and allies, I mean the fraternit}^ 
of spectators, who live in the world without having any- 
thing to do in it ; and either by the affluence of their for- 
tunes, or laziness of their dispositions, have no other 
business with the rest of mankind but to look upon them. 
Under this class of men are comprehended all contempla- 
tive tradesmen, titular physicians, fellows of the Royal So- 
ciety, Templars that are not given to be contentious, and 
statesmen that are out of business ; in short, every one that 
considers the Avorld as a theatre, and desires to form a 
right judgment of those who are actors on it. 

There is another set of men that I must likewise lay a 
claim to, whom I have lately called the blanks of society, 
as being altogether unfurnished with ideas, till the business 
and conversation of the day has supplied them. I have often 
considered these poor souls with an eye of great commisera- 
tion, when I have heard them asking the first man they 
have met with, whether there was any news stirring, and, 
by that means, gathering together materials for thinking. 
These needy persons do not know what to talk of till about 
twelve o'clock in the morning ; for, by that time, they are 
pretty good judges of the weather, know which way the 
wind sits, and whether the Dutch mail be come in. As 
they lie at the mercy of the first man they meet, and are 
grave or impertinent all the day long, according to the no- 
tions which they have imbibed in the morning, I would 
earnestly entreat them not to stir out of their chambers till 
they have read this paper, and do promise them that I will 
daily instill into them such sound and wholesome senti- 
ments, as shall have a good effect on their conversation for 
the ensuing twelve hours. 

But there are none to whom this paper will be more use- 
ful than to the female world. T have often thou.srht there 



The Spectator commends his Papers. 83 

has not been sufficient pains taken in finding out proper 
employments and diversions for the fair ones. Their amuse- 
ments seem contrived for them, rather as they are women, 
than as they are reasonable creatures, and are more adapted 
to the sex than to the species. The toilet is their great 
scene of business, and the right adjusting of their hair the 
principal em-ployment of their lives. The sorting of a suit 
of ribbons is reckoned a very good morning's Avork ; and 
if they make an excursion to a mercer's or a toy-shop, so 
great a fatigue makes them unfit for anything else all the 
day after. Their more serious occupations are sewing and 
embroidery, and their greatest drudgery the preparation of 
jellies and sweet-meats. This, I say, is the state of ordinary 
women ; though I know there are multitudes of those of a 
more elevated life and conversation, that move in an exalted 
sphere of knowledge and virtue, that join all the beauties 
of the mind to the ornaments of dress, and inspire a kind 
of awe and respect, as well as love, into their male behold- 
ers. I hope to increase the number of these by publishing 
this daily paper, which I shall always endeavor to make an 
innocent, if not an improving entertainment, and by that 
means at least divert the minds of my female readers from 
greater trifles. At the same time, as I would fain give some 
finishing touches to those which are already the most beau- 
tiful pieces of human nature, I shall endeavor to point out 
all those imperfections that are the blemishes, as well as 
those virtues which are the embellishments of the sex. In 
the meanwhile I hope these my gentle readers, who have 
so much time on their hands, will not grudge throwing 
away a quarter of an hour in a day on this paper, since they 
may do it without any hindrance to business. 

I know several of my friends and well-wishers are in 
great pain for me, lest I should not be able to keep up the 
spirit of a paper which I oblige myself to furnish every 
day : but to make them easy in this particular, I will prom- 



84 Select Ussai/s of Addison. 

ise tliem faithfullly to give it over as soon as I grow dull. 
This I know will be matter of great raillery to the small 
wits ; who will frequently put me in mind of my promise, 
desire me to keep my word, assure me that it is high time 
to give over, with many other little pleasantries of the like 
nature, which men of a little smart genius cannot forbear 
throwing out against their best friends, when they have 
such a handle given them of being witty. But let them 
remember that I do hereby enter my caveat against this 
piece of raillery. 



Spectator No. lOi. The Spectator imagines himself described by 
an antiquarian of a future age. 

I cannot forbear entertaining myself very often with 
the idea of an imaginary historian describing the reign of 
Anne the First and introducing it with a preface to his 
reader, that he is now entering upon the most shining part 
of English story. The great rivals in fame will be then 
distinguished according to their respective merits, and shine 
in their proper points of light. " Such an one," says the 
historian, "though variously represented by the writers of 
his own age, appears to have been a man of more than 
ordinary abilities, great application, and uncommon integ- 
rity : nor was such a one, though of an opposite party and 
interest, inferior to him in any of these respects." The 
several antagonists who now endeavor to depreciate one 
another, and are celebrated or traduced by different parties, 
will then have the same body of admirers, and appear 
illustrious in the opinion of the whole British nation. The 
deserving man, who can now recommend himself to the 
esteem of but half his countrymen, will then receive 
the approbations and applauses of a whole age. 

Among the several persons who flourish in this glorious 
reign, there is no question but such a future historian, as 



The Spectator looks backward. 85 

the person of whom I am speaking, will make mention of 
the men of genius and learning who have now any figure 
in the British nation. For my own part, I often flatter 
myself with the honorable mention which will then be 
made of me ; and have drawn up a paragraph in my own 
imagination, that I fancy will not be altogether unlike 
what will be found in some page or other of this imaginary 
historian. 

"It was under this reign," says he, "that the Spectator published 
those little diurnal essays which are still extant. We know very 
little of the name or person of this author, except only that he was a 
man of a very short face, extremely addicted to silence, and so great 
a lover of knowledge, that he made a voyage to Grand Cairo for no 
other reason but to take the measure of a pyramid. His chief friend 
was one Sir Roger de Coverley, a whimsical country knight, and a 
Templar, whose name he has not transmitted to us. He lived as a 
lodger at the house of a widow-woman, and was a great humorist in 
all parts of his life. This is all we can affirm with any certainty of 
his person and character; As for his speculations, notwithstanding 
the several obsolete words and obscure phrases of the age in which he 
lived, we still understand enough of them to see the diversions and 
characters of the English nation in his time : not but that we are to 
make allowance for the mirth and humor of the author, who has 
doubtless strained many representations of things beyond the truth. 
For if we interpret his words in their literal meaning, we must sup- 
pose that women of the first quality used to pass away whole morn- 
ings at a puppet-show: that they attested their principles by their 
patches : that an audience would sit out an evening to hear a dramati- 
cal performance written in a language which they did not understand : 
that chairs and flower-pots were introduced as actors upon the British 
stage : that a promiscuous assembly of men and women were allowed 
to meet at midnight in masques within the verge of the court ; with 
many improbabilities of the like nature. We must therefore, in these 
and the like cases, suppose that these remote hints and allusions 
aimed at some certain follies which were then in vogue, and which at 
present we have not any notion of. We may guess by several pas- 
sages in the speculations, that there were writers who endeavored to 
detract from the works of this author, but as nothing of this nature 
has come down to us, we cannot guess at any objections that could be 



86 Select Essays of Addison, 

made to his paper. If we consider his style with that indulgence which 
we must show to old English writers, or if we look into the variety of his 
subjects, with those several dissertations, moral reflections. ..." 
***** 
The following part of the paragraph is so much to my 
advantage, and beyond anything I can pretend to, that 1 
hope my reader will excuse me for not inserting it. 



Spectator No. 124. Large books veisus jmjnphlets and newspapers. 

A man who publishes his works in a volume, has an infin- 
ite advantage over one who communicates his writings to 
the world in loose tracts and single pieces. We do not 
expect to meet with anything in a bulky volume, till after 
some heavy preamble, and several words of course, to pre- 
pare the reader for what follows : nay, authors have estab- 
lished it as a kind of rule, that a man ought to be dull 
sometimes, as the most severe reader makes allowances for 
many rests and nodding places in a voluminous waiter. 
This gave occasion to the famous Greek proverb " That a 
great book is a great evil." 

On the contrary, those who publish their thoughts in dis- 
tinct sheets, and as it were by piece-meal, have none of these 
advantages. We must immediately fall into our subject, 
and treat every part of it in a lively manner, or our papers 
are thrown by as dull and insipid : our matter must lie 
close together, and either be wholly new in itself, or in the 
turn it receives from our expressions. Were the books of 
our best authors thus to be retailed to the public, and every 
page submitted to the taste of forty or fifty thousand 
readers, I am afraid we should complain of many flat 
expressions, trivial observations, beaten topics, and common 
thoughts, which go off very well in the lump. At the same 
time, notwithstanding some papers may be made up of 



Books versus Pamphlets. 87 

broken hints and irregular sketches, it is often expected 
that every sheet should be a kind of treatise, and make out 
in thought what it wants in bulk : that a point of humor 
should be worked up in all its parts ; and a subject touched 
upon in its most essential articles, without the repetitions, 
tautologies, and enlargements, that are indulged to longer 
labors. The ordinary writers of morality prescribe to their 
readers after the Galenic way ; their medicines are made 
up in large quantities. An essay writer must practise in 
the chymical method, and give the virtue of a full draught 
in a few drops. Were all books reduced thus to their 
quintessence, many a bulky author would make his appear- 
ance in a penny-paper : there would be scarce such a thing 
in nature as a folio : the works of an age would be contained 
on a few shelves ; not to mention millions of volumes that 
would be utterly annihilated. 

I cannot think that the difficulty of furnishing out sepa- 
rate papers of this nature, has hindered authors froui com- 
municating their thoughts to the world after such a manner : 
though I must confess I am amazed that the press should 
be only made use of in this way by news-writers, and the 
zealots of parties; as if it were not more advantageous 
to mankind, to be instructed in wisdom and virtue, than in 
politics ; and to be made good fathers, husbands, and sons, 
than counsellors and statesmen. Had the philosophers and 
great men of antiquity, who took so much pains in order to 
instruct mankind, and leave the world wiser and better than 
they found it, — had they, I say, been possessed of the art 
of printing, there is no -question but they would have made 
such an advantage of it, in dealing out their lectures to the 
public. Our common prints would be of great use were 
they thus calculated to diffuse good sense through the bulk 
of a people, to clear up their understandings, animate their 
minds with virtue, dissipate the sorrows of a heavy heart, 
or unbend the mind from its more severe employments, 



88 Select Essays of Addisoyi. 

with, innocent amusements. When knowledge, instead of 
being bound up in books, and kept in libraries and retire- 
ments, is thus obtruded upon the public ; when it is can- 
vassed in every assembly, and exposed upon every table ; 
I cannot forbear reflecting upon that passage in the Prov- 
erbs, "Wisdom crieth without, she uttereth her voice in the 
streets ; she crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the 
openings of the gates. In the city she uttereth her words, 
saying, ' How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity, 
and the scorners delight in their scorning, and fools hate 
knowledge ? ' '' 

I am not at all mortified, when sometimes I see my works 
thrown aside by men of no taste nor learning. There is a 
kind of heaviness and ignorance that hangs upon the minds 
of ordinary men, which is too thick for knowledge to break 
through. Their souls are not to be enlightened. 

To these I must apply the fable of the mole, that after 
having consulted many oculists for the bettering of his 
sight, was at last provided with a good pair of spectacles ; 
but upon his endeavoring to make use of them, his mother 
told him very prudently, "that spectacles, though they 
might help the eye of a man, could be of no use to a mole." 
It is not therefore for the benefit of moles that I publish 
these my daily essays. 

But besides such as are moles through ignorance, there 
are others who are moles through envy. As it is said in 
the Latin proverb, " that one man is a wolf to another ; " so, 
generally speaking, one author is a mole to another author. 
It is impossible for them to discover beauties in one an- 
other's works, they have eyes only for spots and blemishes: 
they can indeed see the light, as it is said of the animals which 
are their name-sakes, but the idea of it is painful to them ; 
they immediately shut their eyes upon it, and withdraw 
themselves into a wilful obscurity. I have already caught 
two or three of these dark undermining vermin, and intend 



The Stamp Tax. 89 

to make a string of them, in order to hang them up in one 
of my papers, as an example to such voluntary moles. 



Spectator No. 445. Effect of the newly imposed sitamp duty on 
periodical publications. The Spectator defends his non-partisan 
course. 

This is the clay on which many eminent authors will 
probably publish their last words. I am afraid that few of 
•our weekly historians, who are men that above all others 
delight in war, will be able to subsist under the weight of a 
stamp, and an approaching peace. A sheet of blank paper 
that must have this new iiinorimatur clapped upon it, before 
it is qualified to communicate anything to the public, will 
make its way in the world very heavily. In short, the 
necessity of carrying a stamp, and the improbability of 
notifying a bloody battle, will, I am afraid, both concur to 
the sinking of those thin folios, which have every other day 
retailed to us the history of Europe for several years last 
past. A facetious friend of mine, who loves a pun, calls 
this present mortality among authors '^ the fall of the leaf." 

I remember, upon Mr. Baxter's death, there was pub- 
lished a sheet of very good sayings, inscribed, " The last 
words of Mr. Baxter." The title sold so great a number of 
these papers, that about a week after there came out a 
second sheet, inscribed, '^ More last words of Mr. Baxter." 
In the same manner, I have reason to think, that several 
ingenious writers, who have taken their leave of the public, 
in farewell papers, will not give over so, but intend to ap- 
pear again, though perhaps under another form, and with a 
different title. Be that as it will, it is my business in this 
place to give an account of my own intentions, and to ac- 
quaint my reader with the motives by which I act in this 
great crisis of the republic of letters . 



90 Select JEssays of Addison. 

I have been long debating in my own heart, whether I 
should throw up my pen, as an author that is cashiered by 
the act of parliament, which is to operate within these four 
and twenty hours, or whether I should still persist in 
laying my speculations from day to day before the public. 
The argument which prevails wdth me most on the first 
side of the question is, that I am informed by my book- 
seller he must raise the price of every single paper to two- 
pence, or that he shall not be able to pay the duty of it. 
Now, as I am very desirous my readers should have their 
learning as cheap as possible, it is with great difficulty thaj^ 
I comply with him in this particular. 

However, upon laying my reasons together in the balance, 
I find that those which plead for the continuance of this work 
have much the greater weight. For, in the first place, in 
recompense for the expense to which this will put my 
readers, it is to be hoped they may receive from every paper 
so much instruction as will be a very good equivalent. 
And, in order to this, I would not advise any one to take it 
in, who, after the perusal of it, does not find himself two- 
pence the wiser or the better man for it ; or who, upon ex- 
amination, does not believe that he has had two penny 
worth of mirth or instruction for his money. 

But I must confess there is another motive which pre- 
vails with me more than the former. I cousider that the 
tax on paper was given for the support of the government ; 
and as I have enemies, who are apt to pervert every thing 
I do or say, I fear they would ascribe the laying down my 
paper, on such an occasion, to a spirit of malcontentedness, 
which I am resolved none shall ever justly upbraid me with. 
No ! I shall glory in contributing my utmost to the weal 
public ; and if my country receives five or six pounds a day 
by my labors, I shall be very well pleased to find myself so 
useful a member. It is a received maxim, that no honest man 
should enrich himself by methods that are prejudicial to 



The Stamp Tax. 91 

the community in which he lives : and by the same rule I 
think we may pronounce the person to deserve very well 
of his countrymen, whose labors bring more into the public 
coffers than into his own pocket. 

Since I have mentioned the word enemies, I must explain 
myself so far as to acquaint my reader, that I mean only 
the insignificant party-zealots on both sides ; men of such 
poor narrow souls, that they are not capable of thinking 
on any thing but with an eye to Whig or Tory. Dur- 
ing the course of this paper, I have been accused by these 
despicable wretches of trimming, time serving, personal re- 
flection, secret satire, and the like. Now though, in these 
my compositions, it is visible to any reader of common 
sense that I consider nothing but my subject, which is 
always of an indifferent nature ; how is it possible for 
me to write so clear of party, as not to lie open to the 
censure of those who will be applying every sentence, and 
finding out persons and things in it, which it has no regard 
to? 

Several paltry scribblers and declaimers have done me 
the honor to be dull upon me in reflections of this nature; 
but notwithstanding my name has been sometimes traduced 
by this contemptible tribe of men, I have hitherto avoided all 
animadversions upon 'em. The truth of it is, I am afraid of 
making them appear considerable by taking notice of them, 
for they are like those imperceptible insects which are dis- 
covered by the microscope, and cannot be made the subject 
of observation without being magnified. 

Having mentioned those few who have shown themselves 
the enemies of this paper, I should be very ungrateful to 
the public, did not I at the same time testify my gratitude 
to those who are its friends, in which number I may reckon 
many of the most distinguished persons of all conditions, 
parties, and professions in the isle of Great Britain. I am 
not so vain as to think this approbation is so much due to 



92 Select Essays of Addison. 

the performance as to the design. There is, and ever will 
be, justice enough in the world, to afford patronage and 
protection for those who endeavor to advance truth and 
virtue, without regard to the passions and prejudices of any 
particular cause or faction. If I have any other merit in me, 
it is that I have new-pointed all the batteries of ridicule. 
They have been generally planted against persons, who have 
appeared serious rather than absurd, or at best have aimed 
rather at what is unfashionable than what is vicious. For my 
own part, I have endeavored to make nothing ridiculous that 
is not in some measure criminal. I have set up the immoral 
man as the object of derision : in short, if I have not formed 
a new weapon against vice and irreligion, I have at least 
shown how that weapon may be put to a right use, which 
has so often fought the battles of impiety and profaneness. 



Spectator No. 488. The Spectator defends the raised price. 

I find, by several letters which I receive daily, that many 
of my readers would be better pleased to pay three halfpence 
for my paper, than twopence. The ingenious T. W. tells 
me, that I haA^e deprived him of the best part of his break- 
fast, for that since the rise of my paper, he is forced every 
morning to drink his dish of coffee by itself, without the 
addition of the Sp)ectator, that used to be better than lace to it. 
Eugenius informs me very obligingly that he never thought 
he should have disliked any passage in my paper, but that 
of late there have been two words in every one of them, 
which he could heartily wish left out, viz. "Price Twopence." 
I have a letter from a soap-boiler, who condoles with me 
very affectionately upon the necessity we both lie under of 
setting an higher price on our commodities, since the late 
tax has been laid upon them, and desiring me, when I write 
next on that subject, to speak a word or two upon the duties 



The Stamp Tax, 93 

upon Castile soap. But there is none of these my corre- 
spondentSj who writes with a greater turn of good sense and 
elegance of expression, than the generous PhiloniedeSj who 
advises me to value every Spectator at sixpence, and 
promises that he himself will engage for above a hundred 
of his acquaintance, who shall take it at that price. 

Letters from the female world are likewise come to me, 
in great quantities, upon the same occasion; and as I 
naturally bear a great deference to this part of our species, 
I am very glad to find that those who approve my con- 
duct in this particular, are much more numerous than those 
who condemn it. A large family of daughters have drawn 
me up a very handsome remonstrance, in which they set 
forth that their father having refused to take in the Spec- 
tator, since the additional price was set upon it, they offered 
him unanimously to bate him the article of bread and butter 
in the tea-table account, provided the Spectator might be 
served up to them every morning as usual. Upon this the 
old gentleman, being pleased it seems with their desire of 
improving themselves, has granted them the continuance 
both of the Spectator and their bread and butter, having 
given particular orders that the tea-table shall be set forth 
every morning with its customary bill of fare, and without 
any manner of defalcation. I thought myself obliged to 
mention this particular, as it does honor to this worthy 
gentleman; and if the young lady Letitia, who sent me this 
account, will acquaint me with his name, I will insert it at 
length in one of my papers, if he desires it. 

I should be very glad to find out any expedient that 
might alleviate the expense which this my paper brings to 
any of my readers ; and, in order to it, must propose two 
points to their consideration. First, that if they retrench 
any the smallest particular in their ordinary expense, it will 
easily make up the halfpenny a day, which we have now 
under consideration. Let a lady sacrifice but a single rib- 



94 Select Esmys of Addison. 

bon to lier morning studies, and it will be sufficient : let a 
family burn but a candle a-niglit less than tlieir usual num- 
ber, and they may take in the Spectator without detriment 
to their private affairs. 

In the next place, if my readers will not go to the price 
of buying my papers by retail, let them have patience, and 
they may buy them in the lump, without the burden of a 
tax upon them. My speculations, when they are sold single 
like cherries upon the stick, are delights for the rich and 
wealthy; after some time they come to market in greater 
quantities, and are every ordinary man's money. The 
truth of it is, they have a certain flavor at their first ap- 
pearance, from several accidental circumstances of time, 
place, and person, which they may lose if they are not 
taken early ; but in this case every reader is to consider, 
whether it is not better for him to be a half a year behind- 
hand with the fashionable and polite part of the Avorld, than 
to strain himself beyond his circumstances. My bookseller 
has now about ten thousand of the third and fourth volumes, 
which he has ready to publish, having already disposed of 
as large an edition both of the first and second volumes. 
As he is a person whose head is very well turned for his 
business, he thinks they would be a very proper present to 
be made to persons at christenings, marriages, visiting-days, 
and the like joyful solemnities, as several other books are fre- 
quently given at funerals. He has printed them in such a 
little portable volume, that many of them may be ranged to- 
gether upon a single plate ; and is of opinion that a salver of 
Spectators would be as acceptable an entertainment to the 
ladies, as a salver of sweetmeats. 

I shall conclude this paper with an epigram lately sent to 
the writer of the Spectator, after having returned my thanks 
to the ingenious author of it. 



Precedence in Literature, 95 

SiK, 

Having heard the followmg epigi-am very much commended, I won- 
der that it has not yet had a place in any of your papers. I think the 
suffrage of our poet laureat should not be overlooked, w^hich shows the 
opinion he entertains of your paper, whether the notion he proceeds 
upon be true or false. I make bold to convey it to you, not knowing 
if it has yet come to your hands. 

ON THE SPECTATOR. 

BY MR. TATE. 

When first the Tatler to a mute was turn'd 
Great Britain for her censor's silence moiirn'd; 
Robb'd of his siH'ightly beams, she wept tlie night, 
'Till the Spectator rose, and blaz'd as bright. 
So the first man the sun's first setting view'd, 
And sigh'd, till circling day his joys rencAv'd ; 
Yet doubtful how that second sun to name. 
Whether a bright successor, or the same. 
So we : but now from this suspense are freed, 
Since all agree, who both with judgment read, 
'Tis the same sun, and doth himself succeed. 



Spectator No. 529. Precedence in literature. 

Upon the hearing of several late disputes concerning 
rank and precedence, I could not forbear amusing myself 
with some observations, which I have made upon the 
learned world, as to this great particular. By the learned 
world I here mean at large all those who are in any w^ay 
concerned in works of literature, whether in the writing, 
printing, or repeating part. To begin with the writers : I 
have observed that the author of a folio, in all companies 
and conversations, sets himself above the author of a quarto ; 
the author of a quarto above the author of an octavo ; and 
so on, by a gradual descent and subordination, to an author 
in twenty-fours. This distinction is so well observed, that 
in an assembly of the learned, I have seen a folio writer 



96 Select Essays of Addison. 

place himself in an elbow-chair, when the author of a duo- 
decimo has, out of a just deference to his superior quality, 
seated himself upon a squab. In a word, authors are usu- 
ally ranged in company after the same manner as their works 
are upon a shelf. 

The most minute pocket author has beneath him the 
writers of all pamphlets, or works that are only stitched. 
As for the pamphleteer, he takes place of none but of the 
authors of single sheets, and of that fraternity who publish 
their labors on certain days, or on every day of the week. 
I do not find that the precedency among the individuals in 
this latter class of writers is yet settled. 

For my own part, I have had so strict a regard to the 
ceremonial which prevails in the learned world, that I never 
presumed to take i3lace of a pamphleteer till my daily papers 
were gathered into those two first volumes which have 
already appeared. After which, I naturally jumped over 
the heads, not only of all pamphleteers, but of every octavo 
writer in Great Britain that had written but one book. I 
am also informed by my bookseller that six octavos have 
at all times been looked upon as an equivalent to a folio ; 
which I take notice of the rather, because I would not have 
the learned world surprised if, after the publication of half 
a dozen volumes, I take my place accordingly. When my 
scattered forces are thus rallied, and reduced into regular 
bodies, T shall flatter myself that I shall make no despicable 
figure at the head of them. 

Whether these rules, which have been received time out 
of mind in the commonwealth of letters, were not originally 
established with an eye to our paper-manufacture, I shall 
leave to the discussion of others ; and shall only remark 
further in this place, that all printers and booksellers take 
the wall of one another according to the above-mentioned 
merits of the authors to whom they respectively belong. 

I come now to that point of precedency which is settled 



Stage Lions. 97 

among the three learned professions by the wisdom of our 
laws. I need not here take notice of the rank which is allot- 
ted to every doctor in each of these professions, who are all 
of them, though not so high as knights, yet a degree above 
'squires ; this last order of men, being the illiterate body of 
the nation, are consequently thrown together into a class 
below the three learned professions. 

There is another tribe of persons who are retainers to the 
learned world, and who regulate themselves upon all occa- 
sions by several laws peculiar to their body; I mean the 
players, or actors, of both sexes. Among these it is a stand- 
ing and uncontroverted principle, that a tragedian always 
takes place of a comedian ; and it is very well known that 
the merry drolls who make us laugh are always placed at 
the lower end of the table, and in every entertainment give 
way to the dignity of the buskin. It is a stage maxim, 
" Once a king, and always a king." 

I shall only add that, by parity of reason, all writers of 
tragedy look upon it as their due to be seated, served, or 
saluted, before comic writers; those who deal in tragi- 
comedy usually taking their place between the authors of 
either side. There has been a long dispute for precedency 
between the tragic and heroic poets. Aristotle would have 
the latter yield the pas to the former ; but Mr. Dryden, and 
many others, would never submit to this decision. Bur- 
lesque writers pay the same deference to the heroic, as 
comic writers to their serious brothers in the drama. 

By this short table of laws order is kept up, and distinc- 
tion preserved, in the whole republic of letters. 



Spectator No. 13. Signor Nicolini arid his lions. 

There is nothing that of late years has afforded matter of 
greater amusement to the town than Signor Nicolini's com- 



98 Select Essays of Addison. 

bat with, a lion in the Hay market, which has been very 
often exhibited to the general satisfaction of most of the 
nobility and gentry in the kingdom of Great Britain. Upon 
the first rumor of this intended combat it was confidently 
affirmed and is still believed by many in both galleries, that 
there would be a tame lion sent from the Tower every opera 
night, in order to be killed by Hydaspes 5 this report, though 
altogether groundless, so universally prev^ailed in the upper 
regions of the play-house, that some of the most refined 
politicians in those parts of the audience gave it out in a 
whisper, that the lion was a cousin-german of the tiger who 
made his appearance in King William's days, and that the 
stage would be supplied with lions at the public expense, 
during the whole session. Many likewise were the conject- 
ures of the treatment which this lion was to meet with from 
the hands of Signor Nicolini ; some supposed that he was to 
subdue him in recitativo, as Orpheus used to serve the wild 
beasts in his time, and afterwards to knock him on the 
head; several, who pretended to have seen the opera in 
Italy, had informed their friends, that the lion was to act a 
part in High-Dutch, and roar twice or thrice to a thorough- 
base, before he fell at the feet of Hydaspes. To clear up a 
matter that was so variously reported, I have made it my 
business to examine whether this pretended lion is really 
the savage he appears to be, or only a counterfeit. 

But before I communicate my discoveries I must acquaint 
the reader, that upon my walking behind the scenes last 
winter, as I was thinking on something else, I accidentally 
justled against a monstrous animal that extremely startled 
me, and upon my nearer survey of it, appeared to be a lion 
rampant. The lion, seeing me very much surprised, told 
me, in a gentle voice, that I might come by him if I pleased : 
"for," says he, "I do not intend to hurt anybody." I 
thanked him very kindly and passed by him: and, in a 
little time after, saw him leap upon the stage, and act his 



Stage Lions. 99 

part with very great applause. It has been observed by 
several, that the lion has changed his manner of acting 
twice or thrice since his first appearance ; which will not 
seem strange, when I acquaint my reader that the lion has 
been changed upon the audience three several times. The 
first lion was a candlesnuffer, who, being a fellow of a testj^, 
choleric temper, overdid his part, and would not suffer him- 
self to be killed so easily as he ought to have done ; besides, 
it was observed of him, that he grew more surly every time 
he came out of the lion ; and having dropt some words in 
ordinary conversation, as if he had not fought his best, and 
that he suffered himself to be thrown on his back in the 
scuflfte, and that he would wrestle with Mr. Nicolini for 
what he pleased, out of his lion's skin, it was thought 
proper to discard him : and it is verily believed to this day, 
that had he been brought upon the stage another time, he 
would certainly have done mischief. Besides, it was ob- 
jected against the first lion, that he reared himself so high 
upon his hinder paws, and walked in so erect a posture, that 
he looked more like an old man than a lion. 

The second lion was a tailor by trade, who belonged to 
the play-house, and had the character of a mild and peace- 
able man in his profession. If the former was too furious, 
this was too sheepish, for his part ; insomuch that after a 
short modest walk upon the stage, he would fall at the first 
touch of Hydaspes, without grappling with him, and giving 
him an opportunity of showing his variety of Italian trips : 
it" is said indeed, that he once gave him a rip in his flesh- 
color doublet; but this was only to make work for him- 
self, in his private character of a tailor. I must not omit 
that it was this second lion who treated me with so much 
humanity behind the scenes. 

The acting lion at present is, as I am informed, a country 
gentleman who does it for his diversion, but desires his 
name may be concealed. He says very handsomely, in his 



100 Select Essays of Addison, 

own excuse, that he does not act for gain, that he indulges 
an innocent pleasure in it; and that it is better to pass 
away an evening in this manner, than in gaming and drink- 
ing ; but at the same time says, with a very agreeable rail- 
lery upon himself, that if his name should be known, the 
ill-natured w^orld might call him, '^ The ass in the lion's 
skin." This gentleman's temper is made out of such a 
happy mixture of the mild and the choleric, that he out- 
does both his predecessors, and has drawn together greater 
audiences than have been known in the memory of man. 

I must not conclude my narrative without taking notice 
of a groundless report that has been raised, to a gentleman's 
disadvantage of whom I must declare myself an admirer; 
namely, that Signor Nicolini and the lion have been seen sit- 
ting peaceably by one another and smoking a pipe together 
behind the scenes ; by which their common enemies would 
insinuate, that it is but a sham combat which they repre- 
sent upon the stage ; but, upon inquiry I find, that if any 
such correspondence has passed between them, it was not 
till the combat was over, when the lion was to be looked 
upon as dead, according to the received rules of the drama. 
Besides, this is what is practised every day in Westminster- 
hall, where nothing is more usual than to see a couple of 
lawyers, who have been tearing each other to pieces in the 
court, embracing one another as soon as they are out of it. 

I would not be thought, in any part of this relation, to 
reflect upon Signor Nicolini, who in acting this part only 
complies with the wretched taste of his audience ; he knows 
very well that the lion has many more admirers than him- 
self ; as they say of the famous equestrian statue on the 
Pont-Neuf at Paris, that more people go to see the horse 
than the king who sits upon it. On the contrary, it gives 
me a just indignation to see a person whose action gives 
new majesty to kings, resolution to heroes, and softness to 
lovers, thus sinking from the greatness of his behavior, and 



Artifices of the Dramatic Poets. 101 

degraded into the character of the London Prentice. I 
have often wished that our tragedians would copy after 
this great master in action. Could they make the same use 
of their arms and legs, and inform their faces with as signi- 
ficant looks and passions, how glorious would an English 
tragedy appear with that action, which is capable of giving 
a dignity to the forced thoughts, cold conceits, and unnat- 
ural expressions of an Italian opera ! In the meantime, I 
have related this combat of the lion, to show what are at 
present the reigning entertainments of the politer part of 
Great Britain. 

Audiences have often been reproached by writers for the 
coarseness of their taste : but our present grievance does not 
seem to be the want of a good taste, but of common sense. 



Spectator No. 44. Artijicesof the dramatic poets. 

Among the several artifices which are put in practice by 
the poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror, the 
first place is due to thunder and lightning, which are often 
made use of at the descending of a god, or the rising of a 
ghost, at the vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a 
tyrant. I have known a bell introduced into several trag- 
edies with good effect ; and have seen the whole assembly in 
a very great alarm all the while it has been ringing. But 
there is nothing which delights and terrifies our English 
theatre so much as a ghost, especially Avhen he appears in a 
bloody shirt. A spectre has very often saved a play, though 
he has done nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose 
through a cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one 
word. There may be a proper season for these several 
terrors ; and when they only come in as aids and assistances 
to the poet, they are not onl}^ to be excused, but to be ap- 
plauded. Thus the sounding of tlie clock, in "Venice Pre- 



102 Select Essays of Addison. 

served/' makes the hearts of the whole audience quake, and 
conveys a stronger terror to the mind tlian it is possible for 
words to do. The appearance of the ghost in Hamlet is a 
masterpiece in its kind, and wrought up with all the circum- 
stances that can create either attention or horror. The 
mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for his reception 
by the discourses that precede it ; his dumb behavior at his 
first entrance strikes the imagination very strongly ; but 
every time he enters, he is still more terrifying. Who can 
read the speech with which young Hamlet accosts him 
without trembling ? 

Hor. Look, my Lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 

Be thou a spirit of liealtli, or goblin damn'd ; 

Bring with thee airs from lieav'n, or blasts from hell ; 

Be thy intents wicked or charitable ; 

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet, 

King, Father, Royal Dane : Oh ! answer me, 

Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 

Have burst their cerements ? Why the sepulchre, 

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd. 

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 

To cast thee up again ? What may this mean ? 

That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel 

Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 

Making night hideous ? 

I do not therefore find fault with the artifices above men- 
tioned, when they are introduced with skill, and accom- 
panied by proportionable sentiments and expressions in 
the writing. 

For the moving of pity our principal machine is the hand- 
kerchief ; and indeed, in our common tragedies, we should 
not know very often that the persons are in distress by any- 
thing they say, if they did not from time to time apply 



Artifices of the Dramatic Poets. 103 

their handkerchiefs to their eyes. Far be it from me to think 
of banishing this instrument of sorrow from the stage; I 
know a tragedy could not subsist without it ; all that I would 
contend for is, to keep it from being misapplied. In a word, 
I would have the actor's tongue sympathize with his eyes. 

A disconsolate mother, with a child in her hand, has fre- 
quently drawn compassion from the audience, and has 
therefore gained a place in several tragedies. A modern 
writer, that observed how this had took in other plays, being 
resolved to double the distress, and melt his audience twice 
as much as those before him had done, brought a princess 
upon the stage with a little boy in one hand, and a girl in 
the other. This too had a very good effect. A third poet, 
being resolved to outwrite all his predecessors, a few years 
ago introduced three children with great success : and, as I 
am informed, a young gentleman, who is fully determined 
to break the most obdurate hearts, has a tragedy by him, 
where the first person that appears upon the stage is an 
afiO-icted widow in her mourning w^eeds, with half a dozen 
fatherless children attending her, like those that usually 
hang about the figure of charity. Thus several incidents, 
that are beautiful in a good writer, become ridiculous by 
falling into the hands of a bad one. 

But among all our methods of moving pity or terror, there 
is none so absurd and barbarous, and what more exposes us 
to the contempt and ridicule of our neighbors, than that 
dreadful butchering of one another, which is so very fre- 
quent upon the Euglish stage. To delight in seeing men 
stabbed, poisoned, racked, or impaled, is certainly the sign 
of a cruel temper; and as this is often practised before the 
British audience, several French critics, who think these 
are grateful spectacles to us, take occasion from them to 
represent us as a people that delight in blood. It is indeed 
very odd to see our stage strewed with carcasses in the last 
scene of a tragedy ; and to observe in the wardrobe of the 



104 Select Essays of Addison, 

playhouse several daggers, poniards, wheels, bowls for 
poison, and many other instruments of death. Murders 
and executions are always transacted behind the scenes in 
the French theatre ; which in general is very agreeable to 
the manners of a polite and civilized people : but as there 
are no exceptions to this rule on the French stage, it leads 
them into absurdities almost as ridiculous as that which 
falls under our present censure. I remember in the famous 
play of Corneille, written upon the subject of the Horatii 
and Curiatii, the fierce young hero who had overcome the 
Curiatii one after another, (instead of being congratulated 
by his sister for his victory, being upbraided by her for 
having slain her lover), in the height of his passion and 
resentment kills her. If any thing could extenuate so 
brutal an action, it would be the doing of it on a sudden, 
before the sentiments of nature, reason, or manhood, could 
take place in him. However, to avoid public bloodshed, as 
soon as his passion is wrought to its height, he follows his 
sister the whole length of the stage, and forbears killing 
her till they are both withdrawn behind the scenes. I 
must confess, had he murdered her before the audience, 
the indecency might have been greater ; but as it is, it ap- 
pears very unnatural, and looks like killing in cold blood. 
To give my opinion upon this case, the fact ought not to 
have been represented, but to have been told, if there was 
any occasion for it. 



Spectator No. 235. The trunk-maker at the theatre. 

There is nothing which lies more within the province of 
a Spectator than public shows and diversions : and as, 
among these, there are none which can pretend to vie with 
those elegant entertainments that are exhibited in our 
theatres, I think it particularly incumbent on me to take 



The Trunk-maker at the Theatre. 105 

notice of everything that is remarkable in such numerous 
and refined assemblies. 

It is observed, that of late years there has been a certain 
person in the upper gallery of the playhouse, who, when 
he is pleased with any thing that is acted upon the stage, 
expresses his approbation by a loud knock upon the benches 
or the wainscot, which may be heard over the whole theatre. 
This person is commonly known by the name of the trunk- 
maker in the upper gallery. Whether it be that the blow 
he gives on these occasions resembles that which is often 
heard in the shops of such artisans, or that he was supposed 
to have been a real trunk-maker, who, after the finishing of 
his day's work, used to unbend his mind at these public 
diversions with his hammer in his hand, I cannot certainly 
tell. There are some, I know, who have been foolish enough 
to imagine it is a spirit which haunts the upper gallery, 
and from time to time makes those strange noises ; and the 
rather because he is observed to be louder than ordinary 
every time the ghost of Hamlet appears. Others have re- 
ported that it is a dumb man, who has chosen this way of 
uttering himself when he is transported with any thing he 
sees or hears. Others will have it to be the playhouse 
thunderer, that exerts himself after this manner in the 
upper gallery, when he has nothing to do upon the roof. 

But having made it my business to get the best informa- 
tion I could in a matter of this moment, I find that the 
trunk-maker, as he is commonly called, is a large black 
man, whom nobody knows. He generally leans forward on 
a huge oaken plant, with great attention to everything that 
passes upon the stage. He is never seen to smile ; but 
upon hearing anything that pleases him, he takes up his 
staff with both hands and lays it upon the next piece of 
timber that stands in his way with exceeding vehemence ; 
after which he composes himself in his former posture, till 
such time as something new sets him again at work. 



106 Select Essays of Addison, 

It has been observed, his blow is so well timed, that the 
most judicious critic could never except against it. As 
soon as any shining thought is expressed in the poet, or any 
uncommon grace appears in the actor, he smites the bench 
or wainscot. If the audience does not concur with him, he 
smites a second time, and if the audience is not yet awaked, 
looks around him with great wrath, and repeats the blow a 
third time, which never fails to produce the clap. He 
sometimes lets the audience begin the clap of themselves, 
and at the conclusion of their applause ratifies it with a 
single thwack. 

He is of so great use to the playhouse, that it is said a 
former director of it, upon his not being able to pay his at- 
tendance by reason of sickness, kept one in pay to ofiiciate 
for him till such time as he recovered ; but the person so 
employed, though he laid about him with incredible vio- 
lence, did it in such wrong places, that the audience soon 
found out that it was not their old friend the trunk-maker. 

It has been remarked that he has not yet exerted himself 
with vigor this season. He sometimes plies at the opera ; 
and upon Nicolini's first appearance, was said to have de- 
molished three benches in the fury of his applause. He 
has broken half a dozen oaken plants upon Dogget, and 
seldom goes away from a tragedy of Shakespeare without 
leaving the wainscot extremely shattered. 

The players do not only connive at his obstreperous ap- 
probation, but very cheerfully repair at their own cost 
whatever damages he makes. They had once a thought of 
erecting a kind of wooden anvil for his use, that should be 
made of a very sounding plank, in order to render his 
strokes more deep and mellow ; but as this might not have 
been distinguished from the music of a kettle-drum, the 
project was laid aside. 

In the meanwhile, I cannot but take notice of the great 
use it is to an audience, that a person should thus preside 



The Tnink-ynaker at the Theatre. 107 

over their heads like the director of a concert, in order to 
awaken their attention, and beat time to their api^lauses ; 
or, to raise my simile, I have sometimes fancied the trunk- 
maker in the upper gallery to be like Virgil's ruler of the 
wind, seated upon the top of a mountain, who, when he 
struck his sceptre upon the side of it roused an hurricane, 
and set the whole cavern in an uproar. 

It is certain the trunk-maker has saved many a good 
play, and brought many a graceful actor into reputation, 
who would not otherwise have been taken notice of. It is 
very visible, — as the audience is not a little abashed, if 
they find themselves betrayed into a clap, when their friend 
in the upper gallery does not come into it, so the actors do 
not value themselves upon the clap, but regard it as a mere 
brutum fulmen, or empty noise, when it has not the sound 
of the oaken plant in it. I know it has been given out by 
those who are enemies to the trunk-maker, that he has some- 
times been bribed to be in the interest of a bad poet or a 
vicious player ; but this is a surmise which has no founda- 
tion; his strokes are always just, and his admonitions sea- 
sonable ; he does not deal about his blows at random, but 
always hits the right nail upon the head. The inexpress- 
ible force wherewith he lays them on sufficiently shows the 
evidence and strength of his conviction. His zeal for a 
good author is indeed outrageous, and breaks down every 
fence and partition, every board and plank, that stands 
within the expression of his applause. 

As I do not care for terminating my thoughts in barren 
speculations, or in reports of pure matter of fact, without 
drawing something from them for the advantage of my 
countrymen, I shall take the liberty to make an humble 
proposal, that whenever the trunk-maker shall depart this 
life, or whenever he shall have lost the spring of his arm 
by sickness, old age, infirmity, or the like, some able-bodied 
3ritic should be advanced to this post, and have a competent 



108 Select Essays of Addison. 

salary settled on him for life, to be furnished with bamboos 
for operas, crab-tree cudgels for comedies, and oaken plants 
for tragedy, at the public expense. And to the end that 
this place should be always disposed of according to merit, 
I would have none preferred to it who has not given con- 
vincing proofs both of a sound judgment and a strong arm, 
and who could not, upon occasion, either knock down an ox, 
or write a comment upon Horace's Art of Poetry. In short, 
I would have him a due composition of Hercules and Apollo, 
and so rightly qualified for this important office, that the 
trunk-maker may not be missed by our posterity. 



Spectator No. 592. Stage properties : dramatic critics. 

I look upon the playhouse as a world within itself. They 
have lately furnished the middle region of it with a new set 
of meteors, in order to give the sublime to many modern 
tragedies. I was there last winter at the first rehearsal of 
the new thunder, which is much more deep and sonorous 
than any hitherto made use of. They have a Salmoneus 
behind the scenes who plays it off with great success. Their 
lightnings are made to flash more briskly than heretofore : 
their clouds are also better furbelowed, and more volumi- 
nous : not to mention a violent storm locked up in a great 
chest, that is designed for the Tempest. They are also 
provided with above a dozen showers of snow, which, as I 
am informed, are the plays of many unsuccessful poets arti- 
ficially cut and shredded for that use. Mr. Rymer's Edgar 
is to fall in snow at the next acting of King Lear, in order 
to heighten, or rather to alleviate, the distress of that unfor- 
tunate prince ; and to serve by way of decoration to a piece 
which that great critic has written against. 

I do not indeed wonder that the actors should be such 
professed enemies to those among our nation who are com- 



Stage Properties: Dramatic Critics. 109 

monly known by the name of critics, since it is a rule among 
these gentlemen to fall upon a play, not because it is ill 
written, but because it takes. Several of them lay it down 
as a maxim, that whatever dramatic performance has a long 
run must of necessity be good for nothing ; as though the 
first precept in poetry were, not to please. Whether this 
rule holds good or not, I shall leave to the determination of 
those who are better judges than myself; if it does, I am 
sure it tends very much to the honor of those gentlemen, 
who have established it; few of their pieces having been 
disgraced by a run of three days, and most of them being so 
exquisitely written that the town would never give them 
more than one night's hearing. 

I have a great esteem for a true critic, such as Aristotle 
and Longinus among the Greeks, Horace and Quintilian 
among the Romans, Boileau and Dacier among the French. 
But it is our misfortune, that some who set up for professed 
critics among us are so stupid, that they do not know how 
to put ten words together with elegance or common pro- 
priety, and withal so illiterate, that they have no taste 
of the learned languages, and therefore criticise upon old 
authors only at second hand. They judge of them by what 
others have written, and not by any notions they have of 
the authors themselves. The words unity, action, sentiment, 
and diction, pronounced with an air of authority, give them 
a figure among unlearned readers, who are apt to believe 
they are very deep, because they are unintelligible. The 
ancient critics are full of the praises of their contemporaries ; 
they discover beauties which escaped the observation of the 
vulgar, and very often find out reasons for palliating and 
excusing such little slips and oversights as were committed 
in the writings of eminent authors. On the contrary, most 
of the smatterers in criticism who appear among us make 
it their business to vilify and depreciate every new produc- 
tion that gains applause, to descry imaginary blemishes. 



110 Select Essays of Addi 



son. 



and to prove by far-fetched arguments, that what pass for 
beauties in any celebrated piece are faults and errors. In 
short, the writings of these critics, compared with those of 
the ancients, are like the works of the sophists compared 
with those of the old philosophers. 

Envy and cavil are the natural fruits of laziness and igno- 
rance ; which was probably the reason that in the Heathen 
mythology Momus is said to be the son of Nox and Somnus, 
of darkness and sleep. Idle men, who have not been at 
the pains to accomplish or distinguish themselves, are very 
apt to detract from others ; as ignorant men are very sub- 
ject to decry those beauties in a celebrated work which they 
have not eyes to discover. Many of our sons of Momus, 
who dignify themselves by the name of critics, are the 
genuine descendants of those two illustrious ancestors. They 
are often led into those numerous absurdities in which they 
daily instruct the people, by not considering that, first, 
There is sometimes a greater judgment shown in deviating 
from the rules of art, than in adhering to them; and, 
secondly, That there is more beauty in the works of a great 
genius who is ignorant of all the rules of art, than in the 
works of a little genius, who not only knows but scrupu- 
lously observes them. 

First, We may often take notice of men who are perfectly 
acquainted with all the rules of good writing, and notwith- 
standing choose to depart from them on extraordinary occa- 
sions. I could give instances out of all the tragic writers 
of antiquity who have shown their judgment in this partic- 
ular, and purposely receded from an established rule of the 
drama, when it has made way for a much higher beauty 
than the observation of such a rule would have been. Those 
who have surveyed the noblest pieces of architecture and 
statuary, both ancient and modern, know very well that 
there are frequent deviations from art in the works of the 
greatest masters, which have produced a much nobler effect 



Tom Folio, 111 

than a more accurate and exact way of proceeding could 
have done. This often arises from what the Italians call 
the gusto grande in these arts, which is what we call the 
sublime in writing. 

In the next place, our critics do not seem sensible that 
there is more beauty in the works of a great genius who is 
ignorant of the rules of art, than in those of a little genius 
who knows and observes them. 

A critic may have the same consolation in the ill success 
of his play, as Dr. South tells us a physician has at the 
death of a patient, that he was killed secundum artem. 
Our inimitable Shakespeare is a stumbling-block to the 
whole tribe of these rigid critics. Who would not rather 
read one of his plays, where there is not a single rule of the 
stage observed, than any production of a modern critic, 
where there is not one of them violated ? Shakespeare 
was indeed born with all the seeds of poetry, and may be 
compared to the stone in Pyrrhus's ring, which, as Pliny 
tells us, had the figure of Apollo and the nine muses in 
the veins of it, produced by the spontaneous hand of nature, 
without any help from art. 



Tatler No. 158. Tom Folio. 

Tom Folio is a broker in learning, employed to get to- 
gether good editions, and stock the libraries of great men. 
There is not a sale of books begins till Tom Folio is seen 
at the door. There is not an auction where his name is not 
heard, and that too in the very nick of time, in the critical 
moment, before the last decisive stroke of the hammer. 
There is not a subscription goes forward, in which Tom is 
not privy to the first rough draught of the proposals ; nor a 
catalogue printed, that doth not come to him wet from the 
press. He is an universal scholar, so far as the title-page 



112 Select Essays of Addison, 

of all authors, knows the manuscripts in which they were 
discovered, the editions through which they have passed, 
with the praises or censures which they have received from 
the several members of the learned world. He has a greater 
esteem for Aldus and Elzevir, than for Virgil and Horace. 
If you talk of Herodotus, he breaks out into a panegyric 
upon Harry Stephens. He thinks he gives you an account 
of an author, when he tells the subject he treats of, the 
name of the editor, and the year in which it was printed. 
Or if you draw him into further particulars, he cries up the 
goodness of the paper, extols the diligence of the corrector, 
and is transported with the beauty of the letter. This he 
looks upon to be sound learning and substantial criticism. 
As for those who talk of the fineness of style, and the just- 
ness of thought, or describe the brightness of any particular 
passages ; nay, though they write themselves in the genius 
and spirit of the author they admire, Tom looks upon them 
as men of superficial learning and flashy parts. 

I had yesterday morning a visit from this learned idiot, 
(for that is the light in which I consider every pedant), 
when I discovered in him some little touches of the cox- 
comb, which I had not before observed. Being very full of 
the figure which he makes in the republic of letters, and 
wonderfully satisfied with his great stock of knowledge, he 
gave me broad intimations, that he did not "believe" in all 
points as his forefathers had done. He then communicated 
to me a thought of a certain author upon a passage of Vir- 
gil's account of the dead, which I made the subject of a late 
paper. This thought hath taken very much among men of 
Tom's pitch and understanding, though universally exploded 
by all that know how to construe Virgil, or have any relish 
of antiquity. Not to trouble my reader with it, I found, 
upon the whole, that Tom did not believe a future state of 
rewards and punishments, because ^neas, at his leaving 
the empire of the dead, passed through the gate of ivory, 



Tom Folio. 113 

and not tlirougii that of horn. Knowing that Tom had not 
sense enough to give up an opinion which he had once 
received, that I might avoid wrangling, I told him, that 
Virgil possibly had his oversights as well as another author. 
"Ah! Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "you would have another 
opinion of him, if you would read him in Daniel Heinsius's 
edition. I have j)erused him myself several times in that 
edition," continued he ; " and after the strictest and most 
malicious examination, could find but two faults in him : 
one of them is in the ^neid, where there are two commas 
instead of a parenthesis ; and another in the third Georgic, 
where you may find a semicolon turned upside down." 
"Perhaps," said I, "these were not Virgil's thoughts, 
but those of the transcriber." "I do not design it," says 
Tom, " as a reflection on Virgil : on the contrary, I know 
that all the manuscripts ^ reclaim ' against such a punctua- 
tion. Oh, Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, "what would a man. 
give to see one simile of Virgil writ in his own hand ? " I 
asked him which was the simile he meant; but was answered, 
"Any simile in Virgil." He then told me all the secret 
history in the commonwealth of leai'ning ; of modern pieces 
that had the names of ancient authors annexed to them ; of 
all the books that were now writing or printing in the sev- 
eral parts of Europe ; of many amendments which are made, 
and not yet published; and a thousand other particulars, 
which I would not have my memory burdened with for a 
Vatican. 

At length, being fully persuaded that I thoroughly ad- 
mired him, and looked upon him as a prodigy of learning, 
he took his leave. I know several of Tom's class who are 
professed admirers of Tasso without understanding a word 
of Italian ; and one in particular, that carries a Pastor Fklo 
in his pocket, in which I am sure he is acquainted with no 
other beauty but the clearness of the character. 

There is another kind of pedant, who, with all Tom Folio's 



114 Select Essays of Addison. 

impertinencies, hath, greater superstructures and embellish- 
ments of Greek and Latin, and is still more insupportable 
than the other, in the same degree as he is more learned. 
Of this kind very often are editors, commentators, inter- 
preters, scholiasts, and critics ; and in short, all men of deep 
learning without common sense. These persons set a greater 
value on themselves for having found out the meaning of a 
passage in Greek, than upon the author for having written 
it J nay, will allow the passage itself not to have any beauty 
in it, at the same time that they would be considered as the 
greatest men in the age for having interpreted it. They 
will look with contempt upon the most beautiful poems that 
have been composed by any of their contemporaries; but 
will lock themselves up in their studies for a twelvemonth 
together, to correct, publish, and expound, such trifles of 
antiquity as a modern author would be contemned for. Men 
of the strictest morals, severest lives, and the gravest pro- 
fessions, will write volumes upon an idle sonnet that is 
originally in Greek or Latin; give editions of the most 
immoral authors, and spin out whole pages upon the various 
readings of a lewd expression. All that can be said in ex- 
cuse for them is, that their works sufficiently show they 
have no taste of their authors ; and that what they do in 
this kind, is out of their great learning, and not out of any 
levity or lasciviousness of temper. 



Taller No. 163. Ned Softly. 

I yesterday came hither ^ about two hours before the 
company generally make their appearance, with a design to 
read over all the newspapers ; but, upon my sitting down, I 
was accosted by :N'ed Softly, who saw me from a corner in 

1 Will's coffee-house. 



Ned Softly. 115 

the other end of the room, where I found he had been 
writmg something. ''Mr. Bickerstaff/' says he, "I observe 
by a hite Paper of yours, that you and I are just of a humor ; 
for you must know, of all impertinences, there is nothing 
which I so much hate as news. I never read a Gazette in 
my life ; and never trouble my head about our armies, 
whether they win or lose, or in what part of the world they 
lie encamped." Without giving me time to reply, he drew 
a paper of verses out of his pocket, telling me, " that he 
had something which would entertain me more agreeably ; 
and that he would desire my judgment upon every line, 
for that we had time enough before us until the company 
came in." 

Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of 
easy lines. Waller is his favorite : and as that admirable 
writer has the best and worst verses of any among our great 
English poets, Ned Softly has got all the bad ones without 
book ; which he repeats upon occasion, to show his reading; 
and garnish his conversation. Ned is indeed a true English 
reader, incapable of relishing the great and masterly strokes 
of this art ; but wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic 
ornaments of epigraramatical conceits, turns, points, and 
quibbles, which are so frequent in the most admired of our 
English poets, and practised by those who want genius and 
strength to represent, after the manner of the ancients, 
simplicity in its natural beauty and perfection. 

Finding my self unavoidably engaged in such a conversation, 
I was resolved to turn my pain into a pleasure, and to divert 
myself as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. "You 
must understand," says Ned, " that the sonnet I am going 
to read to you was written upon a lady, who showed me 
some verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best 
poet of our age. But you shall hear it." 

Upon which he began to read as follows : 



116 Select Essays of Addison. 



TO MIRA ON HER INCOMPARABLE POEMS. 

I. 

When dress' d in laurel wreaths you shine, 

And tune your soft melodious notes, 
You seem a sister of the Nine, 

Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. 

II. 

I fancy, when your song you sing, 

(Your song you sing with so much art) 

Your pen was plucked from Cupid's wing ; 
For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart. 

" Why," says I, '' this is a little nosegay of conceits, a 
very lump of salt: every verse has something in it that 
piques ; and then the dart in the last line is certainly as 
pretty a sting in the tail of an epigram, for so I think you 
critics call it, as ever entered into the thought of a poet." 
"Dear Mr. Bickerstaff," says he, shaking me by the hand, 
" everybody knows you to be a judge of these things ; and 
to tell you truly, I read over Eoscommon's translation of 
^ Horace's Art of Poetry ' three several times, before I sat 
down to write the sonnet which I have shown you. But 
you shall hear it again, and pray observe every line of it ; 
for not one of them shall pass without your approbation. 

When dress' d in laurel wreaths you shine, 

" That is," says he, " when you have your garland on ; 
when you are writing verses." To which I replied, "I 
know your meaning : a metaphor ! " " The same," said he, 
and went on. 

" And tune your soft melodious notes. 

Pray observe the gliding of that verse ; there is scarce a 
consonant in it : I took care to make it run upon liquids. 
Give nie your opinion of it." '^ Truly," said I, "I think it 



Ned Softly. 117 

as good as the former." " I am very glad to hear you say 
so," says he ; "but mind the next. 

You seem a sister of the Nine. 

" That is/' says he, " you seem a sister of the Muses ; 
for, if you look into ancient authors, you will find it was 
their opinion that there were nine of them." " I remember 
it very well," said I ; '*' but pray proceed." 

" Or Phoebus' self in petticoats. 

" Phoebus," says he, " was the god of poetry. These lit- 
tle instances, Mr. Bickerstaff, show a gentleman's reading. 
Then, to take off from the air of learning, which Phoebus 
and the Muses had given to this first stanza, you may 
observe, how it falls all of a sudden into the familiar ; ' in 

Petticoats ' ! 

Or Phoebus' self in petticoats." 

"Let us now," says I, "enter upon the second stanza; I 
find the first line is still a continuation of the metaphor, 

I fancy, when your song you sing." 

" It is very right," says he, "but pray observe the turn of 
words in those two lines. I was a whole hour in adjusting 
of them, and have still a doubt upon me, whether in the 
second line it should be ^ Your song you sing ' ; or, ' You sing 
your song.' You shall hear them both : 

I fancy, when your song you sing, 

(Your song you sing with so much art) 

OR 

I fancy, when your song you sing, 

(You sing your song with so much art)." 

'^ Truly," said I, "the turn is so natural either way, that 
you have made me almost giddy with it." " Dear sir," said 



118 Select JEssays of Addison, 

he, grasping me by the hand, "you have a great deal of 
patience j but pray what do you think of the next verse ? 
Your pen was pluck'd from Cupid's wing." 

" Think ! " says I ; " I think you have made Cupid look 
like a little goose." "• That was my meaning/' says he : "I 
think the ridicule is well enough hit off. But we come now 
to the last, which sums up the whole matter. 

For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart. 

" Pray how do you like that Ah ! doth it not make a 

pretty figure in that place ? Ah ! it looks as if I felt 

the dart, and cried out as being pricked with it. 

For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart. 

"My friend Dick Easy/' continued he, "assured me, he 
would rather have written that Ah ! than have been the 
author of the ^neid. He indeed objected, that I made Mira's 
pen like a quill in one of the lines, and like a dart in the 

other. But as to that " "Oh! as to that," says I, 

" it is but supposing Cupid to be like a porcupine, and his 
quills and darts will be the same thing." He was going to 
embrace me for the hint; but half a dozen critics coming 
into the room, whose faces he did not like, he conveyed the 
sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in the ear, " he 
would show it me again as soon as his man had written it 
over fair." 



Spectator No. 21. Over-crowding of the learned professions. 

I am sometimes very much troubled when I reflect upon 
the three great professions of divinity, law, and physic : 
how they are each of them overburdened with practitioners, 
and filled with multitudes of ingenious gentlemen that 
starve one another. 



Over-crowding of the Professions. 119 

We may divide the clergy into generals, field-officers, and 
subalterns. Among the first we may reckon bishops, deans, 
and archdeacons. Among the second are doctors of divin- 
ity, prebendaries, and all that wear scarves. The rest are 
comprehended under the subalterns. As for the first class, 
our constitution preserves it from any redundancy of incum- 
bents, notwithstanding competitors are numberless. Upon 
a strict calculation, it is found that there has been a great 
exceeding of late years in the second division, several bre- 
vets having been granted for the converting of subalterns 
into scarf-officers ; insomuch that within my memory the 
price of lutestring is raised above twopence in a yard. As 
for the subalterns, they are not to be numbered. Should 
our clergy once enter into the corrupt practice of the laity, 
by the splitting of their freeholds, they would be able to 
carry most of the elections in England. 

The body of the law is no less incumbered with superflu- 
ous members, that are like Virgil's army, which he tells us 
was so crowded, many of them had not room to use their 
weapons. This prodigious society of men may be divided 
into the litigious and peaceable. Under the first are com- 
prehended all those who are carried down in coach-fuls to 
Westminster Hall, every morning in term-time. Martial's 
description of this species of law^yers is full of humor : 

Iras et verba locant. 

Men that hire out their words and anger ; that are more or 
less passionate according as they are paid for it, and allow 
their client a quantity of wrath proportionable to the fee 
which they receive from him. I must however observe to 
the reader, that above three parts of those whom I reckon 
among the litigious, are such as are only quarrelsome in 
their hearts, and have no opportunity of showing their pas- 
sion at the bar. Nevertheless, as they do not know what 
strifes may arise, they appear at the hall every day, that 



120 Select Essays of Addison. 

they may show themselves in a readiness to enter the lists, 
whenever there shall be occasion for them. 

The jjeaceable lawyers are, in the first place, many of the 
benchers of the several Inns of Court, who seem to be the 
dignitaries of the law, and are endowed with those qualifi- 
cations of mind that accomplish a man rather for a ruler 
than a pleader. These men live peaceably in their habita- 
tions, eating once a day, and dancing once a year, for the 
honor of their respective societies. 

Another numberless branch of peaceable lawyers are 
those young men, who, being placed at the Inns of Court in 
order to study the laws of their country, frequent the play- 
house more than Westminster Hall, and are seen in all pub- 
lic assemblies, except in a court of justice. I shall say 
nothing of those silent and busy multitudes that are em- 
ployed within doors, in the drawing up of writings and con- 
veyances ; nor of those greater numbers that palliate their 
want of business with a pretence to such chamber-practice. 

If, in the third place, we look into the profession of 
physic, we shall find a most formidable body of men ; the 
sight of them is enough to make a man serious, for we may 
lay it down as a maxim, that when a nation abounds in 
physicians, it grows thin of people. Sir William Temple is 
very much puzzled to find out a reason why the northern 
hive, as he calls it, does not send out such prodigious 
swarms, and overrun the world with G-oths and Vandals, as 
it did formerly; but had that excellent author observed 
that there were no students in physic among the subjects 
of Thor and Woden, and that this science very much flour- 
ishes in the north at present, he might have found a better 
solution for this difliculty than any of those he has made 
use of. This body of men, in our own country, may be 
described like the British army in Caesar's time : some of 
them slay in chariots, and some on foot. If the infantry do 
less execution than the charioteers, it is because they can- 



Over-crowding of the Professio7is. 121 

not be carried so soon into all quarters of the town, and 
dispatch so much business in so short a time. Besides this 
body of regular troops, there are stragglers, who, without 
being duly listed and enrolled, do infinite mischief to those 
who are so unlucky as to fall into their hands. 

There are, besides the above-mentioned, innumerable re- 
tainers to physic, who for want of other patients amuse 
themselves with the stifling of cats in an air-pump, cutting 
up dogs alive, or impaling of insects upon the point of a 
needle for microscopical observations ; besides those that 
are employed in the gathering of weeds, and the chase of 
butterflies : not to mention the cockle-shell-merchants and 
spider-catchers. 

When I consider how each of these professions are 
crowded with multitudes that seek their livelihood in them, 
and how many men of merit there are in each of them, who 
may be rather said to be of the science than the profession, 
I very much wonder at the humor of parents, who will not 
rather choose to place their sons in a way of life where an 
honest industry cannot but thrive, than in stations where 
the greatest probity, learning, and good sense may miscarry. 
How many men are country curates that might have made 
themselves aldermen of London, by a right improvement of 
a smaller sum of money than what is usually laid out upon 
a learned education ! A sober frugal person, of slender 
parts and slow apprehension, might have thrived in trade, 
though he starves upon physic ; as a man would be well 
enough pleased to buy silks of one whom he would not ven- 
ture to feel his pulse. Vagellius is careful, studious, and 
obliging, but withal a little thick-skulled; he has not a 
single client, but might have had abundance of customers. 
The misfortune is, that parents take a liking to a particular 
profession, and therefore desire their sons may be of it. 
Whereas, in so great an affair of life, they should consider 
the genius and abilities of their children more than their 
own inclinations. 



122 Select Essays of Addison. 

It is tlie great advantage of a trading nation, that there 
are very few in it so dull and heavy who may not be placed 
in stations of life, which may give them an opportunity of 
making their fortunes. A well-regulated commerce is not, 
like law, physic, or divinity, to be overstocked with hands ; 
but, on the contrary, flourishes by multitudes, and gives 
employment to all its professors. Fleets of merchantmen 
are so many squadrons of floating shops, that vend our 
wares and manufactures in all the markets of the world, 
and find out chapmen under both the tropics. 



Spectator No. 8i. On party jmtches. 

About the middle of last winter I went to see an opera 
at the theatre in the Hay Market, where I could not but 
take notice of two parties of very fine women, that had 
placed themselves in the opposite side boxes, and seemed 
drawn up in a kind of battle array one against another. 
After a short survey of them, I found they were patched 
differently ; the faces on one hand being spotted on the 
right side of the forehead, and those upon the other on the 
left. I quickly perceived that they cast hostile glances upon 
one another ; and that their patches were placed in those 
different situations, as party signals to distinguish friends 
from foes. In the middle boxes, between these two opposite 
bodies, were several ladies who patched indifferently on both 
sides of their faces, and seemed to sit there with no other 
intention but to see the opera. Upon inquiry I found, 
that the body of Amazons on my right hand were Whigs, 
and those on my left Tories : and that those who had 
placed themselves in the middle boxes were a neutral party, 
whose faces had not yet declared themselves. These last 
however, as I afterwards found, diminished daily, and took 
their party with one side or the other : insomuch that I 



On Party Patches. 123 

observed in several of them, the patches, which were before 
dispersed equally, are now all gone over to the Whig or 
Tory side of the face. The censorious say that the men, 
whose hearts are aimed at, are very often the occasions that 
one part of the face is thus dishonored, and lies under a 
kind of disgrace, while the other is so much set off and 
adorned by the owners ; and that the patches turn to the 
right or to the left, according to the principles of the man 
who is most in favor. But whatever may be the motives 
of a few fantastical coquettes, who do not patch for the 
public good so much as for their own private advantage, 
it is certain, that there are several women of honor, who 
]3atch out of principle, and with an eye to the interest of 
their country. Nay, I am informed that some of them 
adhere so steadfastly to their party, and are so far from 
sacrificing their zeal for the jmblic to their passion for 
any particular person, that in a late draught*of marriage 
articles a lady has stipulated with her husband, that what- 
ever his opinions are, she shall be at liberty to patch on 
which side she pleases. 

I must here take notice, that Eosalinda, a famous Whig 
partisan, has most unfortunately a very beautiful mole on 
the Tory part of her forehead ; which, being very conspicu- 
ous, has occasioned many mistakes, and given an handle to 
her enemies to misrepresent her face, as though it had re- 
volted from the Whig interest. But whatever this natural 
patch may seem to intimate, it is well known that her notions 
of government are still the same. This unlucky mole, how- 
ever, has misled several coxcombs : and like the hanging out 
of false colors, made some of them converse with Rosalinda 
in what they thought the spirit of her party, when on a 
sudden she has given them an unexpected fire, that has 
sunk them all at once. If Rosalinda is unfortunate in her 
mole, Nigranilla is as unhappy in a pimple, which forces 
her, against her inclinations, to patch on the Whig side. 



124 Select Essays of Addiso7i. 

I am told tliat many virtuous matrons, who formerly 
have been taught to believe that this artificial spotting of 
the face was unlawful, are now reconciled, by a zeal for 
their cause, to what they could not be prompted by a con- 
cern for their beauty. This way of declaring war upon one 
another, puts me in mind of what is reported of the tigress, 
that several spots rise in her skin when she is angry, or, as 
Mr. Cowley says : — 

81ie swells with angry pride, 
And calls forth all her spots on ev'ry side. 

When I was in the theatre the time above mentioned, I 
had the curiosity to count the patches on both sides, and 
found the Tory patches to be about twenty stronger than 
the Whig ; but to make amends for this small inequality, 
I the next morning found the whole puppet-show filled 
with faces spotted after the Whiggish manner. W^hether 
or no the ladies had retreated hither in order to rally their 
forces I cannot tell ; but the next night they came in so 
great a body to the opera, that they out-numbered the 
enemy. 

This account of party patches will, I am afraid, appear 
improbable to those who live at a distance from the fash- 
ionable world ; but as it is a distinction of a very singular 
nature, and what perhaps may never meet with a parallel, 
I think I should not have discharged the office of a faithful 
Spectator, had not I recorded it. 

I have, in former papers, endeavored to expose this party 
rage in women, as it only serves to aggravate the hatred 
and animosities that reign among men, and in a great meas- 
ure deprives the fair sex of those peculiar charms with 
which nature has endued them. 

When the Eomans and Sabines were at war, and just 
upon the point of giving battle, the women who were allied 
to both of them interposed with so many tears and entrea- 



On Party Patches. 125 

ties, that they prevented the mutual slaughter which threat- 
ened both parties, and united them together in a firm and 
lasting peace. 

I would recommend this noble example to our British 
ladies at a time when their country is torn with so many 
unnatural divisions, that, if they continue, it will be a 
misfortune to be born in it. The Greeks thought it so 
improper for women to interest themselves in competitions 
and contentions, that for this reason, among others, they 
forbade them under pain of death to be present at the 
Olympic games, notwithstanding these were the public 
diversions of all Greece. 

As our English women excel those of all nations in beauty, 
they should endeavor to out-shine them in all other accom- 
plishments proper to the sex, and to distinguish themselves 
as tender mothers and faithful wives, rather than as furious 
partisans. Female virtues are of a domestic turn. The 
family is the proper province for private women to shine in. 
If they must be showing their zeal for the public, let it not 
be against those who are perhaps of the same family, or 
at least of the same religion or nation, but against those 
who are the open, professed, undoubted enemies of their 
faith, liberty, and country. When the Eomans were pressed 
with a foreign enemy, the ladies voluntarily contributed all 
their rings and jewels to assist the government under a 
public exigence ; which appeared so laudable an action in the 
eyes of their countrymen, that from thenceforth it was per- 
mitted by a law to pronounce public orations at the funeral 
of a woman in the praise of the deceased person, which till 
that time was peculiar to men. Would our English ladies, 
instead of sticking on a patch against those of their own 
country, show themselves so truly public-spirited as to sac- 
rifice every one her necklace against the common enemy, 
what decrees ought not to be made in favor of them ! 



126 Select Essays of Addison. 

Spectator No. 119. On country manners. 

The first and most obvious reflections which arise in a 
man who changes the city for the country, are upon the 
different manners of the people whom he meets with in 
those two different scenes of life. By manners I do not 
mean morals, but behavior and good breeding, as they show 
themselves in the town and in the country. 

And here, in the first place, I must observe a very great 
revolution that has happened in this article of good breed- 
ing. Several obliging deferences, condescensions, and sub- 
missions, with many outward forms and ceremonies that 
accompany them, were first of all brought up among the 
politer part of mankind, who lived in courts and cities, and 
distinguished themselves from the rustic part of the species 
(who on all occasions acted bluntly and naturally) by such 
a mutual complaisance and intercourse of civilities. These 
forms of conversation by degrees multiplied and grew 
troublesome ; the modish world found too great a constraint 
in them, and have therefore thrown most of them aside. 
Conversation was so encumbered with show and ceremony, 
that it stood in need of a reformation to retrench its super- 
fluities, and restore it to its natural good sense and beauty. 
At present therefore an unconstrained carriage, and a cer- 
tain openness of behavior, are the height of good breeding. 
The fashionable world is grown free and easy ; our manners 
sit more loose upon us : nothing is so modish as an agree- 
able negligence. In a word, good breeding shows itself most 
where to an ordinary eye it appears the least. 

If after this we look on the people of mode in the country, 
we find in them the manners of the last age. They have 
no sooner fetched themselves up to the fashion of the polite 
world, but the town has dropped them, and are nearer to 
the first state of nature than to those refinements which for- 
merly reigned in the court, and still prevail in the country. 



On Country Manners. 127 

One may now know a man that never conversed in the world, 
by his excess of good breeding. A polite country squire shall 
make you as many bows in half an hour, as would serve a 
courtier for a week. There is infinitely more to do about 
place and precedency in a meeting of justices' wives, than 
in an assembly of duchesses. 

This rural politeness is very troublesome to a man of my 
temper, who generally take the chair that is next me, and 
walk first or last, in the front or in the rear, as chance 
directs. I have known my friend Sir Roger's dinner almost 
cold before the company could adjust the ceremonial, and 
be prevailed upon to sit down ; and have heartily pitied my 
old friend, when I have seen him forced to pick and cull 
his guests, as they sat at the several parts of his table, that 
he might drink their healths according to their respective 
ranks and qualities. Honest Will Wimble, who I should 
have thought had been altogether uninfected with cere- 
mony, gives me abundance of trouble in this particular. 
Though he has been fishing all the morning, he will not 
help himself at dinner, till I am served. When we are 
going out of the hall he runs behind me ; and last night, as 
we were walking in the fields, stopped short at a stile till I 
came up to it, and upon my making signs to him to get 
over, told me, with a serious smile, that sure I believed 
they had no manners in the country. 

There has happened another revolution in the point of 
good breeding, which relates to the conversation among men 
of mode, and which I cannot but look upon as very extraor- 
dinary. It was certainly one of the first distinctions of a 
well-bred man, to express every thing that had the most re- 
mote appearance of being obscene in modest terms and dis- 
tant phrases ; whilst the clown, who had no such delicacy 
of conception and expression, clothed his ideas in those 
plain, homely terms that are the most obvious and natural. 
This kind of good manners was perhaps carried to an excess. 



128 Select Essays of Addison. 

so as to make conversation too stiff, formal, and precise; 
for which reason (as hypocrisy in one age is generally suc- 
ceeded by atheism in another) conversation is in a great 
measure relapsed into the first extreme ; so that at present 
several of our men of the town, and particularly those who 
have been polished in France, make use of the most coarse, 
uncivilized words in our language, and utter themselves 
often in such a manner as a clown would blush to hear. 

This infamous piece of good breeding, which reigns among 
the coxcombs of the town, has not yet made its way into the 
country ; and as it is impossible for such an irrational way 
of conversation to last long among a people that make any 
profession of religion, or show of modesty, if the country 
gentlemen get into it, they will certainly be left in the 
lurch. Their good breeding will come too late to them, and 
they will be thought a parcel of lewd clowns, while they 
fancy themselves talking together like men of wit and 
pleasure. 

Spectator No. 129. The same subject. 

Great masters in painting never care for drawing people 
in the fashion; as very well knowing that the head-dress or 
periwig that now prevails, and gives a grace to their por- 
traitures at present, will make a very odd figure, and per- 
haps look monstrous in the eyes of posterity. For this 
reason they often represent an illustrious poet in a Eoman 
habit, or in some other dress that never varies. I could 
wish, for the sake of my country friends, that there was 
such a kind of everlasting drapery to be made use of by 
all who live at a certain distance from the town, and that 
they would agree upon such fashions as should never be 
liable to changes and innovations. For want of this stand- 
ing dress, a man who takes a journey into the country is 
as much surprised as one who walks in a gallery of old 



0)1 Country Manners. 129 

family pictures ; and finds as great a variety of garbs and 
habits in the persons he converses with. Did they keep to 
one constant dress they would sometimes be in the fashion, 
which they never are as matters are managed at present. 
If instead of running after the mode, they would continue 
fixed in one certain habit, the mode would sometime or 
other overtake them, as a clock that stands still is sure to 
point right once in twelve hours : in this case therefore I 
would advise them, as a gentleman did his friend who vv^as 
hunting about the whole town after a rambling fellow, "If 
you follow him you will never find him, but if you plant 
yourself at the corner of any one street, I'll engage it will 
not be long before you see him." 

I have already touched upon this subject, in a specula- 
tion which shows how cruelly the country are led astray in 
following the town, and equipped in a ridiculous habit, 
when they fancy themselves in the height of the mode. 
Since that speculation I have received a letter (which I 
there hinted at) from a gentleman who is now in the west- 
ern circuit. 

Mr. Spectator, 

Being a lawyer of the Middle Temple, a Cornishman by birth, I 
generally ride the western circuit for my health, and as I am not in- 
terrupted with clients, have leisure to make many observations that 
escape the notice of my fellow-travellers. 

One of the most fashionable women I met with in all the circuit 
was my landlady at Staines, where I chanced to be on a holiday. Her 
commode was not half a foot high, and her petticoat within some 
yards of a modish circumference. In the same place I observed a 
young fellow with a tolerable periwig, had it not been covered with a 
hat that was shaped in the Kamillie cock. As I proceeded in my 
journey I observed the petticoat grew scantier and scantier, and about 
threescore miles from London was so very unfashionable, that a 
woman might walk in it without any manner of inconvenience. 

Not far from Salisbury I took notice of a justice of peace's lady, 
who was at least ten years behind-hand in her dress, but at the same 
time as fine as hands could make her. She was flounced and furbe- 



130 Select Essays of Addison. 

lowed from head to foot ; every ribbon was wrinkled, and every part 
of her garments in curl, so that she looked like one of those animals 
which in the country we call a Friezeland hen. 

Not many miles beyond this place I was. informed, that one of the 
last year's little muffs had by some means or other straggled into 
those parts, and that all the women of fashion were cutting their old 
muffs in two, or retrenching them according to the little model which 
was got among them'. I cannot believe the report they have there, 
that it was sent down franked by a parliament-man in a little packet ; 
but probably by next winter this fashion will be at the height in the 
country, when it is quite out at London. 

The greatest beau at our next county- sessions was dressed in a 
most monstrous flaxen periwig, that was made in king William's reign. 
The wearer of it goes, it seems, in his own hair, when he is at home, 
and lets his wig lie in buckle for a whole half-year, that he may put 
it on upon occasion to meet the judges in it. 

I must not here omit an adventure which happened to us in a 
country church upon the frontiers of Cornwall. As we were in the 
midst of the service, a lady who is the chief woman of the place, and 
had passed the winter at London with her husband, entered the con- 
gregation in a little head-dress, and a hooped petticoat. The people, 
who were wonderfully startled at such a sight, all of them rose up. 
Some stared at the prodigious bottom, and some at the little top of 
this strange dress. In the mean time the lady of the manor filled the 
area of the church, and walked up to her pew with an unspeakable 
satisfaction, amidst the whispers, conjectures, and astonishments of 
the whole congregation. 

Upon my way from hence we saw a young fellow riding towards 
us full gallop, with a bob-wig and a black silken bag tied to it. He 
stopt short at the coach, to ask us how far the judges were behind 
us. His stay was so very short, that we had only time to observe his 
new silk waistcoat, which was unbuttoned in several places to let us 
see that he had a clean shirt on, which was ruffled down to his middle. 

From this place, during our progi-ess through the most western 
parts of the kingdom, we fancied ourselves in king Charles the sec- 
ond's reign, the people having made very little variations in their dress 
since that time. The smartest of the country squires appear still in 
the Monmouth cock, and when they go a wooing (whether they have 
any post in the militia or not) they generally put on a red coat. We 
were, indeed, very much surprised at the place we lay at last night, to 
meet with a gentleman that had accoutered himself in a night-cap wig, 



0)> Fin 3Io7iey. 131 

a coat with long pockets and slit sleeves, and a pair of shoes with high 
scollop tops ; but we soon found by his conversation that he was a 
person who laughed at the ignorance and rusticity of the country 
people, and was resolved to Hve and die in the mode. 

Sir, if you think this account of my travels may be of any advan- 
tage to the public, I will next year trouble you with such occurrences 
as I shall meet with in other parts of England. For I am informed 
there are greater curiosities in the northern circuit than in the west- 
ern ; and that a fashion makes its progress much slower into Cum- 
berland than into Cornwall. I have heard in particular, that the 
Steenkirk arrived but two months ago at Newcastle, and that there 
are several commodes in those parts which are worth taking a journey 
thither to see. 



Spectator No. 295. On pin money. 

Mr. Spectator, 

I am turned of my great climacteric, and am naturally a man of 
a meek temper. About a dozen years ago I was married, for my sins, 
to a young woman of a good family, and of an high spirit ; but could 
not bring her to close with me, before I had entered into a treaty with 
her longer than that of the Grand Alliance. Among other articles, it 
was therein stipulated that she should have 400/. a year for pin money, 
which I obliged myself to pay quarterly into the hands of one who 
acted as her plenipotentiary in that affair. I have ever since religiously 
observed my part in this solemn agreement. Now, Sir, so it is, that 
the lady has had several children since I married her. The education 
of these my children, who are born to me every year, straitens me so 
much that I have begged their mother to free me from the obligation 
of the above-mentioned pin money, that it may go towards making a 
provision for her family. This proposal makes her noble blood swell 
in her veins, insomuch that finding me a little tardy in her last quar- 
ter's payment, she threatens me every day to arrest me ; and proceeds 
so far as to tell me, that if I do not do her justice, I shall die in a 
jail. To this she adds, when her passion would let her argue calmly, 
that she has several play-debts on her hand, which must be discharged 
very suddenly, and that she cannot lose her money as becomes a 
woman of her fashion, if she makes me any abatement in this article. 
I hope, Sir, you will take an occasion from hence to give your opinion 
upon a subject which you have not yet touched, and inform us if there 



13- Select Ussai/s of Adih'son. 

are any precedents for this usage among our ancestors ; or whether 
you rind aiiy mention of pin money in Grotius, Rift'endorf. or any 
other of the civihans. 

I am ever the humblest of your aiimu-ers, 

JosiAH Fribble. Esq. 

As there is no man living who is a more professed advocate 
for the fair sex than myself, so there is none that would be 
more unwilling to invade any of their ancient rights and 
privileges; but as the doctrine of pin mone}' is of a very 
late date, unknown to our great grandmothers, and not yet 
received by many of our modern ladies, I think it is for the 
interest of both sexes to keep it from spreading. 

"We may indeed generally observe, that in proportion as 
a woman is more or less beautiful, and her husband advanced 
in years, she stands in need of a greater or less number of 
pins, and, upon a treaty of marriage, rises or falls in her 
demands accordingh'. It must likewise be owned, that 
high quality in a mistress does very much inflame this article 
in the marriage reckoning. 

But where the age and circumstances of both parties are 
pretty much upon a level, I cannot but think the insisting 
upon pin money is very extraordinary ; and yet we find 
several matches broken off upon this very head. "What would 
a foreigner, or one who is a stranger to this practice, think 
of a lover that forsakes his mistress because he is not willing 
to keep her in pins ? But what would he think of the mis- 
tress, should he be informed that she asks five or six hundred 
pounds a year for this use ? Should a man unacquainted 
with our customs be told the sums which are allowed in 
Great Britain under the title of pin money, what a prodigious 
consumption of pins would he think there was in this 
island I "A pin a day/' says our frugal proverb, "is a groat 
a year"; so that according to this calculation, my friend 
Tribble's wife must every year make use of eight millions 
six hundred and fort}' thousand new pins I 



On Pin Money. 133 

I am not ignorant that our British ladies allege they 
comprehend under this general term several other conven- 
iences of life ; I could therefore wish, for the honor of my 
country women, that they had rather called it Needle money, 
which might have implied something of good housewifery, 
and not have given the malicious world occasion to think 
that dress and trifles have always the uppermost place in 
a woman's thoughts. 

I know several of my fair readers urge, in defence of this 
practice, that it is but a necessary provision they make for 
themselves, in case their husband proves a churl or a miser ; 
so that they consider this allowance as a kind of alimony, 
which they may lay their claim to without actually separat- 
ing from their husbands. But with submission I think a 
woman who Avill give up Jierself to a man in marriage, where 
there is the least room for such an apprehension, and trust 
her person to one whom she will not rely on for the common 
necessaries of life, may very properly be accused (in the 
phrase of a homely proverb) of being "penny wise and 
pound foolish." 

It is observed of over-cautious generals, that they never 
engage in a battle without securing a retreat, in case the 
event should not answer their expectations ; on the other 
hand, the greatest conquerors have burnt their ships, or 
broke down the bridges behind them, as being determined 
either to succeed or die in the engagement. In the same 
manner, I should very much suspect a woman who takes 
such precautions for her retreat, and contrives methods how 
she may live happily, without the affection of one to whom 
she joins herself for life. Separate jjurses between man 
and wife are in my opinion unnatural. A marriage cannot 
be happy where the pleasures, inclinations, and interest of 
both parties are not the same. There is no greater entice- 
ment to love in the mind of man, than the sense of a person's 
depending upon him for her ease and happiness ; as a 



134 Select Essays of Addison. 

woman uses all her endeavors to please the person whom 
she looks upon as her honor, her comfort, and her support. 

For this reason I am not very much surprised at the 
behavior of a rough country squire, who, being not a little 
shocked at the proceeding of a young widow that would not 
recede from her demands of pin money, was so enraged at 
her mercenary temper, that he told her in great wrath, '^As 
much as she thought him her slave, he would show all the 
world he did not care a pin for her." Upon which he flew 
out of the room, and never saw her more. 

Socrates, in Plato's Alcibiades, says, he was informed by 
one who had travelled through Persia, that as he passed 
over a great tract of land, and inquired what the name of 
the place was, they told him it was the Queen's girdle ; to 
which he adds, that another wide field which lay by it, was 
called the Queen's veil ; and that in the same manner there 
was a large portion of ground set aside for every part of 
her majesty's dress. These lands might not be improperly 
called the Queen of Persia's i^in money. 



Spectator No. 403. The false rumor. 

When I consider this great city in its several quarters 
and divisions, I look upon it as an aggregate of various 
nations distinguished from each other by their respective 
customs, manners, and interests. The courts of two coun- 
tries do not so much differ from one another, as the court 
and city in their peculiar ways of life and conversation. In 
short, the inhabitants of St. James's, notwithstanding they 
live under the same laws, and speak the same language, are 
a distinct people from those of Cheapside, who are likewise 
removed from those of the Temple on the one side, and 
those of Smithfield on the other, by several climates and 
degrees in their way of thinking and conversing together. 



The False Rumor. 135 

For this reasoiij when any public affair is upon the anvil, 
I love to hear the reflections that arise upon it in the sev- 
eral districts and parishes of London and Westminster, 
and to ramble up and down a whole day together, in order 
to make myself acquainted with the opinions of my ingen- 
ious countrymen. By this means I know the faces of all 
the principal politicians within the bills of mortality ; and 
as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belong- 
ing to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, I 
always take care to place myself near him, in order to know 
his judgment on the present posture of affairs. The last 
progress that I made with this intention Avas about three 
months ago, when we had a current report of the king of 
France's death. As I foresaw this would produce a new 
face of things in Europe, and many curious speculations in 
our British coffee-houses, I was very desirous to learn the 
thoughts of our most eminent politicians on that occasion. 

That I might begin as near the fountain-head as possible, 
I first of all called in at St. James's, where I found the 
whole outward room in a buzz of politics. The speculations 
were but very indifferent towards the door, but grew finer as 
you advanced to the upper end of the room, and were so very 
much improved by a knot of theorists who sat in the inner 
room, within the steams of the coffee-pot, that I there heard 
the whole Spanish monarchy disposed of, and all the line of 
Bourbon provided for, in less than a quarter of an hour. 

I afterwards called in at Giles's, where I saw a board of 
French gentlemen sitting upon the life and death of their 
Grand Monarque. Those among them who had espoused 
the Whig interest very positively affirmed that he departed 
this life about a week since ; and therefore proceeded with- 
out any further delay to the release of their friends in the 
galleys, and to their own re-establishment : but, finding 
they could not agree among themselves, I proceeded on my 
intended progress. 



136 Select Essays of Addison. 

Upon my arrival at Jenny Man's, I saw an alert young 
fellow that cocked his hat upon a friend of his who entered 
just at the same time with myself, and accosted him after 
the following manner : " Well, Jack, the old prig is dead at 
last. Sharp's the word. Now or nevei, boy. Up to the 
walls of Paris directly." With several other deep reflections 
of the same nature. 

I met with very little variation in the politics between 
Charing Cross and Covent Garden. And, upon my going 
into Will's, I found their discourse was gone oft" from the 
death of the French king to that of Monsieur Boileau, 
Eacine, Corneille, and several other poets, whom they 
regretted upon this occasion, as persons who would have 
obliged the world with very noble elegies on the death of 
so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning. 

At a coffee-house near the Temple, I found a couple of 
young gentlemen engaged very smartly in a dispute on the 
succession to the Spanish monarchy. One of them seemed 
to have been retained as advocate for the Duke of Anjou, 
the other for his Imperial Majesty. They were both for 
regulating the title to that kingdom by the statute-laws of 
England ; but, finding them going out of my depth, I passed 
forward to Paul's church-yard, where I listened with great 
attention to a learned man, who gave the company an 
account of the deplorable state of France during the minor- 
ity of the deceased king. 

I then turned on my right hand into Fish-street ; where 
the chief politician of that quarter, upon hearing the news, 
(after having taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminated for 
some time), "If," says he, "the king of France is certainly 
dead, we shall have plenty of mackerel this season; our 
fishery will not be disturbed by privateers, as it has been 
for these ten years past." He afterwards considered how 
the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, and, 
by several other remarks, infused a general joy into his 
whole audience. 



The False Rumor. 137 

I afterwards entered a by coffee-house that stood at the 
upper end of a narrow lane, where I met with a non-juror, 
engaged very w^armly with a Lice-nian who w\as the great 
support of a neighboring conventicle. The matter in debate 
was whether the late French king was most like Augustus 
Caesar or Nero. The controversy w^as carried on with 
great heat on both sides, and, as each of them looked upon 
me very frequently during the course of their debate, I was 
under some apprehension that they would appeal to me ; 
and therefore laid down my penny at the bar, and made the 
best of my way to Cheapside. 

I here gazed upon the signs for some time before I found 
one to my purpose. The first object I met in the coffee- 
room was a person who expressed a great grief for the death 
of the French king ; but, upon his explaining himself, I 
found his sorrow did not arise from the loss of the monarch, 
but for his having sold out of the bank about three days 
before he heard the news of it : upon which a haberdasher, 
who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle of 
admirers about him, called several to witness that he had 
declared his opinion above a week before, that the French 
king w^as certainly dead ; to which he added, that, consider- 
ing the late advices we had received from France, it was 
impossible that it could be otherwise. As he was laying 
these together, and dictating to his hearers with great 
authority, there came in a gentleman from Garraway's, who 
told us that there were several letters from France just 
come in, w^ith advice that the king was in good health, and 
w^as gone out a-hunting the very morning the post came 
away; upon which the haberdasher stole off his hat that 
hung upon a wooden peg by him, and retired to his shop 
with great confusion. This intelligence put a stop to my 
travels, which I had prosecuted with so much satisfaction ; 
being not a little pleased to hear so many different opinions 
upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally upon 



138 Select Essays of Addison. 

sucli a piece of news every one is apt to consider it with 
a regard to his particular interest and advantage. 



Guardian No. l66. A friend of mankind brought to grief by an 

alchemist. 

Charity is a virtue of the heart, and not of the hands, 
says an old writer. Gifts and alms are the expressions, 
not the essence, of this virtue. A man may bestow great 
sums on the poor and indigent, without being charitable, 
and may be charitable when he is not able to bestow any- 
thing. Charity is therefore a habit of good will, or benev- 
olence, in the soul, which disposes us to the love, assistance, 
and relief of mankind, especially of those who stand in need 
of it. The poor man who has this excellent frame of mind, 
is no less entitled to the reward of this virtue, than the man 
who founds a college. For my own part, I am charitable to 
an extravagance this way. I never saw an indigent person 
in my life without reaching out to him some of this imagi- 
nary relief. I cannot but sympathize with every one I meet 
that is in affliction ; and if my abilities w^ere equal to my 
wishes, there should be neither pain nor poverty in the 
world. 

To give my reader a right notion of myself in this partic- 
ular, I shall present him with the secret history of one of 
the most remarkable parts of my life. 

I was once engaged in search of the philosopher's stone. 
It is frequently observed of men who have been busied in 
this pursuit, that though they have failed in their principal 
design, they have, however, made such discoveries in their 
way to it, as have sufficiently recompensed their inquiries. 
In the same manner, though I cannot boast of my success 
in that affair, I do not repent of my engaging in it, because 
it produced in my mind such an habitual exercise of charity. 



Great Plans of Pliilanthropy Shattered. 139 

as made it much better than perhaps it wouhl have been, 
had I never been lost in so pleasing a delusion. 

As I did not question but I should soon have a new Indies 
in my possession, I was perpetually taken up in considering 
how to turn it to the benefit of mankind. In order to it I 
employed a whole day in walking about this great city, to 
find out proper places for the erection of hospitals. I had 
likewise entertained that project, which has since succeeded 
in another place, of building churches at the court end of 
the town, with this only difference, that instead of fifty, I 
intended to have built a hundred, and to have seen them all 
finished in less than one year. 

I had with great pains and application got together a list 
of all the French Protestants ; and by the best accounts I 
could come at, had calculated the value of all those estates 
and effects which every one of them had left in his own 
country for the sake of his religion, being fully determined 
to make it up to him, and return some of them the double 
of what they had lost. 

As I was one day in my laboratory, my operator, who was 
to fill my coffers for me, and used to foot it from the other 
end of the town every morning, complained of a sprain in 
his leg, that he had met with over against St. Clement's 
church. This so affected me, that, as a standing mark of 
my gratitude to him, and out of compassion to the rest of 
my fellow-citizens, I resolved to new pave every street within 
the liberties, and entered a memorandum in my pocket-book 
accordingly. About the same time I entertained some 
thoughts of mending all the highways on this side the 
Tweed, and of making all the rivers in England navi- 
gable. 

But the project I had most at heart, was the settling upon 
every man in Great Britain three pounds a year, (in which 
sum may be comprised, according to Sir William Pettit's 
observations, all the necessities of life,) leaving to them 



140 Select Essays of Addison. 

whatever else they could get by their own industry, to lay 
out on superfluities. 

I was above a week debating in myself what I should do 
in the matter of Impropriations ; but at length came to a 
resolution to buy them all up, and restore them to the 
church. 

As I was one day walking near St. Paul's, I took some 
time to survey that structure, and not being entirely satis- 
fied with it, though I could not tell why, I had some thoughts 
of pulling it down, and building it up anew at my own 
expense. 

For my own part, as I have no pride in me, I intended to 
take up with a coach and six, half a dozen footmen, and 
live like a private gentleman. 

It happened about this time that public matters looked 
very gloomy, taxes came hard, the war went on heavily, 
people complained of the great burdens that were laid upon 
them; this made me resolve to set aside one morning, to 
consider seriously the state of the nation. I was the more 
ready to enter on it, because I was obliged, whether I would 
or no, to sit at home in my morning gown, having, after a 
most incredible expense, pawned a new suit of clothes, and 
a full-bottomed wig, for a sum of money which my operator 
assured me was the last he should want to bring all matters 
to bear. 

After having considered many projects, I at length re- 
solved to beat the common enemy at his own weapons, and 
laid a scheme which would have blown him up in a quarter 
of a year, had things succeeded to my wishes. As I was in 
this golden dream, somebody knocked at my door. I opened 
it, and found it was a messenger that brought me a letter 
from the laboratory. The fellow looked so miserably poor, 
that I was resolved to make his fortune before he delivered 
his message ; but seeing he brought a letter from my opera- 
tor, I concluded I was bound to it in honor, as much as a 



The Vision of Public Credit, 141 

prince is to give a reward to one that brings him the first 
news of a victory. I knew this was the long-expected hour 
of projection, which I had waited for, with great impatience, 
above half a year. In short, I broke open my letter in a 
transport of joy, and found it as follows. 

Sir, 

After having got out of you everything you can conveniently 
spare, I scorn to trespass upon your generous nature, and, therefore, 
must ingenuously confess to you, that I know no more of the philoso- 
pher's stone than you do. I shall only tell you for your comfort, that 
I never yet could bubble a blockhead out of his money. They must 
be men of wit and parts who are for my purpose. This made me apply 
myself to a person of your wealth and ingenuity. How I have suc- 
ceeded, you yourself can best tell. 

Your humble servant to command, 

Thomas White. 

I have locked up the laboratory, and laid the key under the door. 

I was very much shocked at the unworthy treatment of 
this man, and not a little mortified at my disappointment, 
though not so much for what I myself, as what the public, 
suffered by it. I think, however, I ought to let the world 
know what I designed for them, and hope that such of*my 
readers who find they had a share in my good intentions, 
will accept the will for the deed. 



Spectator No. 3. TJit vision of public credit. 

In one of my late rambles, or rather speculations, I looked 
into the great hall where the Bank is kept, and was not a 
little pleased to see the directors, secretaries, and clerks, 
with all the other members of that wealthy corporation, 
ranged in their several stations, according to the parts they 
act in that just and regular economy. This revived in my 



142 Select Ussai/s of Addison. 

memory the many discourses wliicli I had both read and 
heard concerning the decay of public credit, with the 
methods of restoring it, and which, in my oj^inion, have 
always been defective, because they have been made with 
an eye to separate interests and party principles. 

The thoughts of the day gave my mind employment for 
the whole night, so that I fell insensibly into a kind of 
methodical dream, which disposed all my contemplations 
into a vision or allegory, or what else the reader shall please 
to call it. 

Methought I returned to the great hall, where I had been 
the morning before, but, to my surprise, instead of the com- 
pany that I left there, I saw towards the upper end of the 
hall a beautiful virgin, seated on a throne of gold. Her name 
(as they told me) was Public Credit. The walls, instead of 
being adorned with pictures and maps, were hung with many 
Acts of Parliament written in golden letters. At the upper 
end of the hall was the Magna Charta, with the Act of Uni- 
formity on the right hand, and the Act of Toleration on the 
left. At the lower end of the hall was the Act of Settle- 
ment, which was placed full in the eye of the virgin that sat 
upon the throne. Both the sides of the hall were covered 
with such Acts of Parliament as had been made for the 
establishment of public funds. The lady seemed to set an 
unspeakable value upon these several pieces of furniture, 
insomuch that she often refreshed her eye with them, and 
often smiled with a secret pleasure as she looked upon them ; 
but, at the same time, showed a very particular uneasiness, 
if she saw anything approaching that might hurt them. 
She appeared, indeed, infinitely timorous in all her behavior ; 
and, whether it was from the delicacy of her constitution, 
or that she was troubled with vapors, as I was afterwards 
told by one who I found was none of her well-wishers, she 
changed color and startled at everything she heard. She 
was likewise (as I afterwards found) a greater valetudina- 



The Vision of Public Credit. 143 

rian than any I had ever met with, even in her own sex, 
and subject to such momentary consumptions, that, in the 
twinkling of an eye, she would fall away from the most 
florid complexion, and the most healthful state of body, and 
wither into a skeleton. Her recoveries were often as sudden 
as her decays, insomuch that she would revive in a moment 
out of a wasting distemper, into a habit of the highest health 
and vigor. 

I had very soon an opportunity of observing these quick 
turns and changes in her constitution. There sat at her 
feet a couple of secretaries, who received every hour letters 
from all parts of the world, which the one or the other of 
them was perpetually reading to her ; and, according to the 
news she heard, to which she was exceedingly attentive, she 
changed color, and discovered many symptoms of health or 
sickness. 

Behind the throne was a prodigious heap of bags of money, 
which were piled upon one another so high, that they touched 
the ceiling. The floor, on her right hand and on her left, 
was covered with vast sums of gold that rose up in pyramids 
on either side of her 5 but this I did not so much wonder at, 
when I heard, upon inquiry, that she had the same virtue 
in her touch, which the poets tell us a Lydian king was for- 
merly possessed of; and that she could convert whatever 
she pleased into that precious metal. 

After a little dizziness, and confused hurry of thought, 
which a man often meets with in a dream, methought the 
hall was alarmed, the doors flew open, and there entered 
half a dozen of the most hideous phantoms that I had ever 
seen (even in a dream) before that time. They came in 
two by two, though matched in the most dissociable manner, 
and mingled together in a kind of dance. It would be te- 
dious to describe their habits and persons, for which reason 
I shall only inform my reader, that the first couple were 
Tyranny and Anarchy ; the second were Bigotry and Athe- 



144 Select Essays of Addison. 

ism ; the third, the genius of a commonwealth and a young 
man of about twenty-two years of age, whose name I could 
not learn. He had a sword in his right hand, which in the 
dance he often brandished at the Act of Settlement ; and a 
citizen, who stood by me, whispered in my ear, that he saw 
a sponge in his left hand. The dance of so many jarring 
natures put me in mind of the sun, moon, and earth, in the 
Rehearsal, that danced together for no other end but to 
ecli]^se one another. 

The reader will easily suppose, by what has been before 
said, that the lady on the throne would have been almost 
frightened to distraction, had she seen but any one of these 
spectres : what then must have been her condition when she 
saw them all in a body ? She fainted and died away at the 
sight. 

There was a great change in the hill of money bags and 
the heaps of money ; the former shrinking, and falling into 
so many empty bags, that I now found not above a tenth 
part of them had been filled with money. The rest that 
took up the same space, and made the same figure as the 
bags that were really filled with money, had been blown up 
with air, and called into my memory the bags full of wind, 
which Homer tells us his hero received as a present from 
^olus. The great heaps of gold, on either side the throne, 
now appeared to be only heaps of paper, or little piles of 
notched sticks, bound up together in bundles, like Bath 
fagots. 

Whilst I was lamenting this sudden desolation that had 
been made before me, the whole scene vanished : in the 
room of the frightful spectres, there now entered a second 
dance of apparitions very agreeably matched together, and 
made up of very amiable phantoms. The first pair was 
Liberty with Monarchy at her right hand ; the second was 
Moderation leading in Eeligion ; and the third a person, 
whom I had never seen, with the genius of Great Britain. 



The Royal Exchange, 145 

At the first entrance the lady revived ; the bags swelled to 
their former bulk ; the piles of fagots, and heaps of paper, 
changed into pyramids of guineas : and, for my own part, I 
was so transported with joy, that I awaked; though, I 
must confess, I would fain have fallen asleep again to have 
closed my vision, if I could have done it. 



Spectator No. 69. The Royal Exchange. 

There is no place in the town which I so much love to 
frequent as the Koyal Exchange. It gives me a secret 
satisfaction, and, in some measure, gratifies my vanity, as I 
am an Englishman, to see so rich an assembly of country- 
men and foreigners consulting together upon the private 
business of mankind, and making this metropolis a kind of 
emporium for the whole earth. I must confess I look upon 
high-change to be a great council, in which all considerable 
nations have their representatives. Factors in the trading 
world are what ambassadors are in the politic world ; they 
negotiate affairs, conclude treaties, and maintain a good 
correspondence between those wealthy societies of men that 
are divided from one another by seas and oceans, or live on 
the different extremities of a continent. I have often been 
pleased to hear disputes adjusted between an inhabitant of 
Japan and an alderman of London, or to see a subject of 
the Great Mogul entering into a league with one of the 
Czar of Muscovy. I am infinitely delighted in mixing with 
these several ministers of commerce, as they are distin- 
guished by their different walks and different languages : 
sometimes I am jostled among a body of Armenians ; some- 
times I am lost in a crowd of Jews ; and sometimes make 
one in a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, Swede, or 
Frenchman at different times ; or rather fancy myself like 



146 Select Essays of Addison. 

the old philosopher, who upon being asked what country- 
man he was, replied, that he was a citizen of the world. 

Though I very frequently visit this busy multitude of 
people, I am known to nobody there but my friend Sir 
Andrew, who often smiles upon me as he sees me bustling 
in the crowd, but at the same time connives at my presence 
without taking any further notice of me. There is indeed 
a merchant of Egypt, who just knows me by sight, having 
formerly remitted me some money to Grand Cairo ; but as 
I am not versed in the modern Coptic, our conferences go 
no further than a bow and a grimace. 

This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety 
of solid and substantial entertainments. As I am a great 
lover of mankind, my heart naturally overflows with pleas- 
ure at the sight of a prosperous and happy multitude, inso- 
much, that at many public solemnities I cannot forbear 
expressing my joy with tears that have stolen down my 
cheeks. For this reason I am wonderfully delighted to see 
such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, 
and at the same time promoting the public stock; or, in 
other words, raising estates for their own families, by bring- 
ing into their country whatever is wanting, and carrying 
out of it whatever is superfluous. 

Nature seems to have taken a peculiar care to dissem- 
inate the blessings among the different regions of the world, 
with an eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among 
mankind, that the natives of the several parts of the globe 
might have a kind of dependence upon one another, and be 
united together by their common interest. Almost every 
degree produces something peculiar to it. The food often 
grows in one country, and the sauce in another. The fruits 
of Portugal are corrected by the products of Barbadoes ; 
the infusion of a China plant sweetened with the pith of an 
Indian cane. The Philippine Islands give a flavor to our 
European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality 



The Royal Exchange. 147 

is often the product of a hundred climates. The muff and 
the fan come together from the different ends of the earth. 
The scarf is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from 
beneath the pole. The brocade petticoat rises out of the 
mines of Peru, and the diamond necklace out of the bowels 
of Indostan. 

If we consider our own country in its natural prospect, 
without any of the benefits and advantages of commerce, 
what a barren, uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our 
share ! Natural historians tell us, that no fruit grows 
originally among us besides hips and haws, acorns and pig- 
nuts, with other delicacies of the like nature ; that our 
climate of itself, and without the assistance of art, can 
make no further advances towards a plum than to a sloe, 
and carries an apple to no greater periectiou than a crab : 
that our melons, our peaches, our figs, our apricots, and 
cherries, are strangers among us, imported in different ages, 
and naturalized in our English gardens ; and that they 
would all degenerate and fall away into the trash of our 
own country, if they were wholly neglected by the planter, 
and left to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic 
more enriched our vegetable world, than it has improved 
the whole face of nature among us. Our ships are laden 
with the .harvest of every climate : our tables are stored 
with spices, and oils, and wines ; our rooms are filled with 
pyramids of China, and adorned with the workmanship of 
Japan : our morning's draught comes to us from the remot- 
est corners of the earth ; we repair our bodies by the drugs 
of America, and repose ourselves under Indian canopies. 
My friend Sir Andrew calls the vineyards of France our 
gardens ; the spice-islands our hot-beds ; the Persians our 
silk-weavers, and the Chinese our potters. Nature indeed 
furnishes us with the bare necessities of life, but traffic 
gives LIS a great variety of what is useful, and at the same 
time supplies us with everything that is convenient and 



14S Select Essays of Addison. 

ornamental. Nor is it the least part of this our happiness, 
that while we enjoy the remotest products of the north and 
south, we are free from those extremities of weather which 
give them birth ; that our eyes are refreshed with the green 
fields of Britain, at the same time that our palates are 
feasted with fruits that rise between the tropics. 

For these reasons there are not more useful members in 
a commonwealth than merchants. They knit mankind 
together in a mutual intercourse of good offices, distribute 
the gifts of nature, find work for the poor, add wealth to 
the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English mer- 
chant converts the tin of his own country into gold, and 
exchanges his wool for rubies. The Mahometans are 
clothed in our British manufacture, and the inhabitants of 
the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. 

When I have been upon the Change, I have often fancied 
one of our old kings standing in person, where he is repre- 
sented in effigy, and looking down upon the wealthy con- 
course of people with which that place is every day filled. 
In this case, how would he be surprised to hear all the 
languages of Europe spoken in this little spot of his former 
dominions, and to see so many private men, who in his 
time would have been the vassals of some powerful baron, 
negotiating like princes for greater sums of money than 
were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury ! Trade, 
without enlarging the British territories, has given us a 
kind of additional empire : it has multiplied the number of 
the rich, made our landed estates infinitely more valuable 
than they were formerly, and added to them the accession 
of other estates as valuable as the lands themselves. 



The Tory Fox-hunter. 149 

Freeholder No. 22. The Tory fox-hunter. 

For the honor of his Majesty, and the safety of his 
government, we cannot but observe, that those who have 
appeared the greatest enemies to both, are of that rank of 
men, who are commonly distinguished by the title of Fox- 
hunters. As several of these have had no part of their 
education in cities, camps, or courts, it is doubtful whether 
they are of greater ornament or use to the nation in which 
they live. It would be an everlasting reproach to politics, 
should such men be able to overturn an establishment which 
has been formed by the wisest laws, and is supported by 
the ablest heads. The wrong notions and prejudices which 
cleave to many of these country gentlemen, who have always 
lived out of the way of being better informed, are not easy 
to be conceived by a person who has never conversed with 
them. 

That I may give my readers an image of these rural states- 
men, I shall, without further preface, set down an account 
of a discourse I chanced to have with one of them some 
time ago. I was travelling towards one of the remote parts 
of England, when about three o'clock in the afternoon, see- 
ing a country gentleman trotting before me with a spaniel 
by his horse's side, I made up to him. Our conversation 
opened, as usual, upon the weather ; in which we were very 
unanimous ; having both agreed that it was too dry for the 
season of the year. My fellow-traveller, upon this, observed 
to me, that there had been no good weather since the Kevo- 
lution. I was a little startled at so extraordinary a remark, 
but would not interrupt him till he proceeded to tell me of 
the fine weather they used to have in King Charles the 
Second's reign. I only answered that I did not see how 
the badness of the weather could be the king's fault ; and, 
without waiting for his reply, asked him whose house it was 
we saw upon the rising ground at a little distance from us. 



150 Select Essays of Addison. 

He told me it belonged to an old fanatical cur, Mr. Such-a- 
one. '^ You must have heard of him/' says he, " he's one of 
the Rump." I knew the gentleman's character upon hear- 
ing his name, but assured him, that to my knowledge he 
was a good churchman : " Ay ! " says he, with a kind of 
surprise, " We were told in the country, that he spoke twice, 
in the queen's time, against taking off the duties upon 
French claret." This naturally led us to the proceedings of 
late parliaments, upon which occasion he affirmed roundly, 
that there had not been one good law passed since King 
William's accession to the throne, except the act for pre- 
serving the game. I had a mind to see him out, and there- 
fore did not care for contradicting him. ''• Is it not hard," 
says he, "that honest gentlemen should be taken into cus- 
tody of messengers to prevent them from acting according 
to their consciences ? But," says he, " what can we expect 

when a parcel of factious " He was going on in great 

passion, but chanced to miss his dog, who was amusing him- 
self some distance behind us. We stood still till he had 
whistled him up ; when he fell into a long panegj^ric upon 
his spaniel, who seemed, indeed, excellent in his kind : but 
I found the most remarkable adventure of his life was, that 
he had once like to have worried a dissenting teacher. The 
master could hardly sit on his horse for laughing all the 
while he was giving me the particulars of his story, which 
I found had mightily endeared his dog to him, and as he 
himself told me, had made him a great favorite among all 
the honest gentlemen of the country. We were at length 
diverted from this piece of mirth by a post-boy, who wind- 
ing his horn at us, my companion gave him two or three 
curses, and left the way clear for him. " I fancy," said I, 
" that post brings news from Scotland. I shall long to see 
the next Gazette." "Sir," says he, "I make it a rule never 
to believe any of your printed news. We never see, sir, 
how things go, except now and then in Dyer's Letter, and 



The Tory Fox-hunter. 151 

I read that more for the style than the news. The man 
has a clever pen, it must be owned. But is it not strange 
that we should be making war upon Church of England men 
with Dutch and Swiss soldiers, men of antimonarchical 
principles ? These foreigners will never be loved in Eng- 
land, sir ; they have not that wit and good-breeding that we 
have.'' I must confess I did not expect to hear my new 
acquaintance value himself upon these qualifications, but 
finding him such a critic upon foreigners, I asked him if he 
had ever travelled ; he told me, he did not know what trav- 
elling was good, for, but to teach a man to ride the great 
horse, to jabber French, and to talk against passive obedi- 
ence : to which he added, that he scarce ever knew a trav- 
eller in his life who had not forsook his principles, and lost 
his hunting-seat. "For my part," says he, "I and my father 
before me have always been for passive obedience, and shall 
be always for opposing a prince who makes use of ministers 
that are of another opinion. But where do you intend to 
inn to-night ? (for we were now come in sight of the next 
town ; ) I can help you to a very good landlord if you will 
go along with me. He is a lusty, jolly fellow, that lives 
well, at least three yards in the girt, and the best Church 
of England man upon the road." I had a curiosity to see 
this high-church inn-keeper, as well as to enjoy more of the 
conversation of my fellow-traveller, and therefore readily 
consented to set our horses together for that night. As we 
rode side by side through the town, I was let into the char- 
acters of all the principal inhabitants whom we met in our 
way. One was a dog, another a whelp, another a cur, under 
which several denominations were comprehended all that 
voted on the Whig side, in the last election of burgesses. 
As for those of his own party, he distinguished them by a 
nod of his head, and asking them how they did by their 
Christian names. Upon our arrival at the inn, my com- 
panion fetched out the jolly landlord, who knew him by 



152 Select Essays of Addison. 

his whistle. Many endearments and private whispers passed 
between them ; though it was easy to see by the landlord's 
scratching his head that things did not go to their wishes. 
The landlord had swelled his body to a prodigious size, and 
worked up his complexion to a standing crimson by his zeal 
for the prosperity of the church, which he expressed every 
hour of the day, as his customers dropt in, by repeated 
bumpers. He had not time to go to church himself, but, as 
my friend told me in my ear, had headed a mob at the pull- 
ing down of two or three meeting-houses. While supper 
was preparing, he enlarged upon the happiness of the neigh- 
boring shire; "For," says he, "there is scarce a Presby- 
terian in the whole county, except the bishop." In short, 
I found by his discourse that he had learned a great deal 
of politics, but not one word of religion, from the parson of 
his parish ; and, indeed, that he had scarce any other notion 
of religion, but that it consisted in hating Presbyterians. 
I had a remarkable instance of his notions in this x^articular. 
Upon seeing a poor decrepit old woman pass under the 
window where we sat, he desired me to take notice of her ; 
and afterwards informed me, that she was generally reputed 
a witch by the country people, but that, for his part, he was 
apt to believe she was a Presbyterian. 

Supper was no sooner served in, than he took occasion 
from a shoulder of mutton that lay before us, to cry up the 
plenty of England, which would be the happiest country in 
the world, provided we would live within ourselves. Upon 
which, he expatiated on the inconveniences of trade, that 
carried from us the commodities of our country, and made 
a parcel of upstarts as rich as men of the most ancient 
families of England. He then declared frankly, that he 
had always been against all treaties and alliances with for- 
eigners : " Our wooden walls," says he, " are our security, 
and we may bid defiance to the whole world, especially if 
they should attack us when the militia is out." I ventured 



The Tory Fox-hunter, 153 

to reply, that I had as great an opinion of the English fleet 
as he had; but I could not see how they could be paid, and 
manned, and fitted out, unless we encouraged trade and 
navigation. He replied, with some vehemence, that he 
would undertake to prove trade Avould be the ruin of the 
English nation. I would fain have put him upon it ; but 
he contented himself with affirming it more eagerly, to 
which he added two or three curses upon the London mer- 
chants, not forgetting the directors of the bank. After 
supper he asked me if I was an admirer of punch; and 
immediately called for a sneaker. I took this occasion to 
insinuate the advantages of trade, by observing to him that 
water was the only native of England that could be made 
use of on this occasion : but that the lemons, the brandy, 
the sugar, and the nutmeg, w^ere all foreigners. This put 
him into some confusion ; but the landlord, who overheard 
me, brought him off, by affirming, that for constant use, 
there was no liquor like a cup of English water, provided 
it had malt enough in it. My squire laughed heartily at 
the conceit, and made the landlord sit down with us. AVe 
sat pretty late over our punch ; and, amidst a great deal of 
improving discourse, drank the healths of several persons 
in the country, whom I had never heard of, that, they both 
assured me, were the ablest statesmen in the nation ; and 
of some Londoners, whom they extolled to the skies for 
their wit, and who, I knew, passed in town for silly fellows. 
It being now midnight, and my friend perceiving by his 
almanac that the moon was up, he called for his horses, and 
took a sudden resolution to go to his house, which was at 
three miles' distance from the town, after having bethought 
himself that he never slept well out of his own bed. He 
shook me very heartily by the hand at parting, and discov- 
ered a great air of satisfaction in his looks, that he had met 
with an opportunity of showing his parts, and left me a 
much wiser man than he found me. 



154 Select Essays of Addison, 

Spectator No. 56. Marraton and Yaratilda. 

The Americans believe that all creatures have souls, not 
only men and women, but brutes, vegetables, nay, even the 
most inanimate things, as stocks and stones. They believe 
the same of all the works of art, as of knives, boats, looking- 
glasses : and that as any of these things perish, their souls 
go into another world, which is habited by the ghosts of men 
and women. For this reason they always place by the 
corpse of their dead friend a bow and arrows, that he may 
make use of the souls of them in the other world, as he did 
of their wooden bodies in this. How absurd soever such 
an opinion as this may appear, our European philosophers 
have maintained several notions altogether as improbable. 
Some of Plato's followers in particular, when they talk of 
the world of ideas, entertain us with substances and beings 
no less extravagant and chimerical. Many Aristotelians 
have likewise spoken as unintelligibly of their substantial 
forms. I shall only instance Albertus Magnus, who in his 
dissertation upon the loadstone, observing that fire will 
destroy its magnetic virtues, tells us that he took particular 
notice of one as it lay glowing amidst an heap of burning 
coals, and that he perceived a certain blue vapor to arise 
from it, which he believed might be the substantial form, 
that is, in our West Indian phrase, the soul of the load- 
stone. 

There is a tradition among the Americans, that one of 
their countrymen descended in a vision to the great reposi- 
tory of souls, or, as we call it here, to the other world ; and 
that upon his return he gave his friends a distinct account 
of everything he saw among those regions of the dead. A 
friend of mine, whom I have formerly mentioned, prevailed 
upon one of the interpreters of the Indian kings, to inquire 
of them if possible, what tradition they have among them 
of this matter ; which, as well as he could learn by those 



Marraton mid Yaratilda. 155 

many questions whicli he asked tliem at several times, was 
in substance as follows. 

The visionary, whose name was Marraton, after having 
travelled for a long space under an hollow mountain, arrived 
at length on the confines of this world of spirits ; but could 
not enter it by reason of a thick forest made up of bushes, 
brambles, and pointed thorns, so perplexed and interwoven 
with one another, that it was impossible to find a passage 
through it. Whilst he was looking about for some track or 
pathway that might be worn in any part of it, he saw an 
huge lion couched under the side of it, who kept his eye 
upon him in the same posture as he watches for his prey. 
The Indian immediately started back, Avhilst the lion rose 
with a spring, and leaped towards him. Being wholly des- 
titute of all other weapons, he stooped down to take up an 
huge stone in his hand : but to his infinite surprise grasped 
nothing, and found the supposed stone to be only the appa- 
rition of one. If he was disappointed on this side, he was 
as much pleased on the other, when he found the lion, which 
had seized on his left shoulder, had no power to hurt him, 
and was only the ghost of that ravenous creature which it 
appeared to be. He no sooner got rid of his impotent 
enemy, but he marched up to the wood, and after having 
surveyed it for some time, endeavored to press into one 
part of it that was a little thinner than the rest; when 
again, to his great surprise, he found the bushes made no 
resistance, but that he walked through briers and brambles 
with the same ease as through the open air ; and, in short, 
that the whole wood was nothing else but a wood of shades. 
He immediately concluded, that this huge thicket of thorns 
and brakes was designed as a kind of fence or quick-set 
hedge to the ghosts it enclosed; and that probably their 
soft substances might be torn by these subtle points and 
prickles, which were too weak to make any impressions in 
flesh and blood. With this thought he resolved to travel 



156 Select Essays of Addison. 

tlirougli tliis intricate wood ; wlien by degrees he felt a gale 
of perfumes breathing upon him, that grew stronger and 
sweeter in proportion as he advanced. He had not pro- 
ceeded much farther when he observed the thorns and briers 
to end, and give place to a thousand beautiful green trees 
covered with blossoms of the finest scents and colors, that 
formed a wilderness of sweets, and were a kind of lining to 
those ragged scenes which he had before passed through. 
As he was coming out of this delightful part of the wood, 
and entering upon the plains it enclosed, he saw several 
horsemen rushing by him, and a little while after heard the 
cry of a pack of dogs. He had not listened long before he 
saw the apparition of a milk-white steed, with a young man 
on the back of it, advancing upon full stretch after the souls 
of about an hundred beagles that were hunting down the 
ghost of an hare, which ran away before them with an unspeak- 
able swiftness. As the man on the milk-white steed came 
by him, he looked upon him very attentively, and found 
him to be the young prince jSTicaragua, who died about half 
a year before, and by reason of his great virtues was at that 
time lamented over all the w^estern parts of America. 

He had no sooner got out of the wood, but he was enter- 
tained with such a landscape of flowery plains, green mead- 
ows, running streams, sunny hills, and shady vales, as were 
not to be represented by his own expressions, nor, as he 
said, by the conceptions of others. This happy region was 
peopled with innumerable swarms of spirits, who applied 
themselves to exercises and diversions according as their 
fancies led them. Some of them were tossing the figure of 
a quoit; others were pitching the shadow of a bar; others 
were breaking the apparition of a horse; and multitudes 
employing themselves upon ingenious handicrafts with the 
souls of departed utensils ; for that is the name which in 
the Indian language they give their tools when they are 
burnt or broken. As he travelled through this delightful 



Marraton and Yaratilda, 157 

scene, he was very often tempted to pluck the flowers that 
rose everywhere about him in the greatest variety and pro- 
fusion, having never seen several of them in his own country ; 
but he quickly found, that though they were objects of his 
sight, they were not liable to his touch. He at length came 
to the side of a great river, and being a good fisherman 
himself, stood upon the banks of it some time to look upon 
an angler that had taken a great many shapes of fishes, 
which lay flouncing up and down by him. 

I should have told my reader, that this Indian had been 
formerly married to one of the greatest beauties of his 
country, by whom he had several children. This couple 
were so famous for their love and constancy to one another, 
that the Indians to this day, when they give a married man 
joy of his wife, wish that they may live together like Mar- 
raton and Yaratilda. Marraton had not stood long by the 
fisherman when he saw the shadow of his beloved Yaratilda, 
who had for some time fixed her eye upon him, before he 
discovered her. Her arms were stretched out towards him, 
floods of tears ran down her eyes ; her looks, her hands, her 
voice called him over to her ; and at the same time seemed 
to tell him that the river was unpassable. Who can describe 
the passion made up of joy, sorrow, love, desire, astonish- 
ment, that rose in the Indian upon the sight of his dear 
Yaratilda ? He could express it by nothing but his tears, 
which ran like a river down his cheeks as he looked upon 
her. He had not stood in* this posture long, before he 
plunged into the stream that lay before him ; and finding 
it to be nothing but the phantom of a river, stalked on the 
bottom of it till he arose on the other side. At his approach 
Yaratilda flew into his arms, whilst Marraton wished him- 
self disencumbered of that body which kept her from his 
embraces. After many questions and endearments on both 
sides, she conducted him to a bower which she had dressed 
with her own hands with all the ornaments that could be 



158 Select Essays of Addison. 

met with in those blooming regions. She had made it gay 
beyond imagination, and was every day adding something 
new to it. As Marraton stood astonished at the unspeak- 
able beauty of her habitation, and ravished with the fra- 
grancy that came from every part of it, Yaratilda told him 
that she was preparing this bower for his reception, as well 
knowing that his piety to his God, and his faithful dealing 
towards men, would certainly bring him to that happy place, 
whenever his life should be at an end. She then brought 
two of her children to him, who died some years before, and 
resided with her in the same delightful bower; advising 
him to breed up those others which were still with him in 
such a manner, that they might hereafter all of them meet 
together in this happy place. 

The tradition tells us further, that he had afterwards a 
sight of those dismal habitations which are the portion of 
ill men after death ; and mentions several molten seas of 
gold, in which were plunged the souls of barbarous Euro- 
peans, who put to the sword so many thousands of poor 
Indians for the sake of that precious metal : but having 
already touched upon the chief points of this tradition, and 
exceeded the measure of my paper, I shall not give any 
further account of it. 



Spectator No. 159. The vision of Mirzah. 

When I was at Grand Cairo I picked up several oriental 
manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others I 
met with one entitled, the Visions of Mirzah, ^vhich I have 
read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the 
public when I have no other entertainment for them ; and 
shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated 
word for word as follows : 

" On the fifth day of the moon, which according to the 



The Vision of Mirzah, 159 

custom of my forefathers I always kept holy, after having 
washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I 
ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest 
of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing 
myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound 
contemplation on the vanity of human life ; and passing 
from one thought to another, 'surely,' said I, 'man is but a 
shadow and life a dream.' Whilst I was thus musing, I 
cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not 
far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shep- 
herd, with a musical instrument in his hand. As I looked 
upon him he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon 
it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into 
a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and 
altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They 
j)ut me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to 
the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in 
paradise, to wear out the impressions of their last agonies, 
and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. 
My heart melted away in secret raptures. 

'' I had been often told that the rock before me was the 
haunt of a genius ; and that several had been entertained 
with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the 
musician had before made himself visible. When he had 
raised my thoughts, by those transporting airs which he 
played, to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked 
upon him like one astonished, he beckoned to me, and by 
the waving of his hand directed me to approach the place 
where he sat. I drew near with that reverence which is 
due to a superior nature; and as my heart was entirely 
subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down 
at his feet and wept. The genius smiled upon me with a 
look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to 
my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and 
apprehensions w4th which I approached him. He lifted 



160 Select Essays of Addison. 

me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, ^ Mirzah,' 
said he, ^ I have heard thee in thy soliloquies, follow me.' 

" He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and 
placed me on the top of it. ^Cast thy eyes eastward,' said 
he, ^ and tell me what thou seest.' ^ I see,' said I, ' a huge 
valley and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.' 
^ The valley that thou seest,' said he, ' is the vale of miser}^, 
and the tide of water that thou seest is part of the great 
tide of eternity.' ' What is the reason,' said I, '■ that the tide 
I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses 
itself in a thick mist at the other ? ' ' What thou seest,' said 
he, ^ is that portion of eternity which is called time, meas- 
ured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning oj' 
the world to its consummation. Examine now,' said he, 
^this sea that is thus bounded with darkness at both ends, 
and tell me what thou discoverest in it.' ^I see a bridge,' 
said I, ^ standing in the midst of the tide.' ' The bridge thou 
seest,' said he, ^ is human life ; consider it attentively.' Upon 
a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of 
threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, 
which added to those that were entire, made up the number 
about an hundred. As I was counting the arches the genius 
told me that this bridge consisted at first of a thousand 
arches ; but that a great flood swept away the rest, and left 
the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it. ^But 
tell me, further,' said he, ' what thou discoverest on it.' ' I 
see multitudes of people passing over it,' said I, 'and a black 
cloud hanging on each end of it.' As I looked more atten- 
tively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through 
the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it ; 
and upon further examination, perceived there were innu- 
merable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which 
the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through 
them into the tide and immediately disappeared. These 
hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the entrance of the 



The Vision of MirzaL 161 

bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner broke through 
the cloud, but many of them fell into them. They grew 
thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer 
together towards the end of the arches that were entire. 

"There were indeed some persons, but their number was 
very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the 
broken arches, but fell through one after another, being 
quite tired and spent with so long a walk. 

"I passed some time in the contemplation of this won- 
derful structure, and the great variety of objects which it 
presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to 
see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth 
and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them 
to save themselves. Some were looking up towards the 
heavens in a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a 
speculation stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes 
were very busy in the pursuit of baubles that glittered in 
their eyes and danced before them, but often when they 
thought themselves within the reach of them, their footing 
failed and down they sunk. In this confusion of objects, I 
observed some with scimitars in their hands, and others 
with lancets, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrust- 
ing several persons upon trap-doors which did not seem to 
lie in their way, and which they might have escaped, had 
they not been thus forced upon them. 

" The genius seeing me indulge myself in this melancholy 
prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it : ' take 
thine eyes off the bridge,' said he, ' and tell me if thou yet 
seest anything thou dost not comprehend.' Upon looking up, 
' what mean,' said I, ' those great flights of birds that are 
perpetually hovering about the bridge, and settling upon it 
from time to time ? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cor- 
morants, and among many other feathered creatures, several 
little winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the 
middle arches.' ' These,' said the genius, ' are envy, avarice, 



162 Select Essays of Addison. 

superstition, despair, love, with tlie like cares and passions, 
that infest human life.' 

" I here fetched a deep sigh ; ' alas,' said I, ^ man was made 
in vain! How is he given away to misery and mortality! 
tortured in life, and swallowed up in death ! ' The genius, 
being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so 
uncomfortable a prospect. ' Look no more,' said he, ' on man 
in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eter- 
nity ; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into Avhich the tide 
bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it.' I 
directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the 
good genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or 
dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the 
eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther 
end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a 
huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it, and 
dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still rested on 
one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it : 
but the other appeared to me a vast ocean planted with 
innumerable islands, that were covered with fruits and 
flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas 
that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glori- 
ous habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among 
the trees, lying down by the sides of the fountains, or rest- 
ing on beds of flowers ; and could hear a confused harmony 
of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical 
instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of 
so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, 
that I might fly away to those happy seats ; but the genius 
told me there was no passage to them, except through the 
gates of death that I saw opening every moment upon the 
bridge. ' The islands,' said he, ' that lie so fresh and green 
before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean 
appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in num- 
ber than the sands on the sea-shore; there are myriads of 



The Golden Scales. 163 

islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching 
farther than thine eye, or even thine imagination, can ex- 
tend itself. These are the mansions of good men after 
death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in 
which they excelled, are distributed among these several 
islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and 
degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those 
who are settled in them : every island is a paradise, accom- 
modated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, 
Mirzah, habitations worth contending for ? Does life appear 
miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a 
reward ? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so 
happy an existence ? Think not man was made in vain, 
who has such an eternity reserved for him.' I gazed with 
inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, 
said I, ' show me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid 
under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other 
side of the rock of adamant.' The genius making me no 
answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second 
time, but I found that he had left me. I then turned again 
to the vision which I had been so long contemplating, but, 
instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy 
islands, I saw nothing but the long hollow valley of Bagdat, 
with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it." 



Spectator No. 463. The golden scales. 

I was lately entertaining myself with comparing Homer's 
balance, in which Jupiter is represented as weighing the 
fates of Hector and Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, 
wherein that deity is introduced as weighing the fates of 
Turnus and ^neas. I then considered how the same way 
of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as 
in those noble passages of Scripture, where we are told, 



164 Select Essays of Addison. 

that the great king of Babylon, the day before his death, 
had been weighed in the balance, and been found wanting. 
In other places of the holy writings, the Almighty is de- 
scribed as weighing the mountains in scales, making the 
weight for the winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds ; 
and, in others, as weighing the actions of men, and laying 
their calamities together in a balance. Milton, as I have 
observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of these 
foregoing instances, in that beautiful description wherein he 
represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing 
themselves for the combat, but parted by the balance which 
appeared in the heavens and weighed the consequences of 
such a battle. 

These several amusing thoughts having taken possession 
of my mind some time before I went to sleep, and mingling 
themselves with my ordinary ideas, raised in my imagi- 
nation a very odd kind of vision. I was, methought, 
replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where 
I had indulged the foregoing speculations, w4th my lamp 
burning by me, as usual. Whilst I was here meditating on 
several subjects of morality, and considering the nature of 
many virtues and vices, as materials for those discourses 
with which I daily entertain the public ; I saw, methought, 
a pair of golden scales hanging by a chain of the same 
metal over the table that stood before me ; when, on a 
sudden, there were great heaps of weights thrown down 
on each side of them. I found upon examining these 
weights, they showed the value of everything that is in 
esteem among men. I made an essay of them by putting 
the weight of wisdom in one scale, and that of riches in 
another, upon which the latter, to show its comparative 
lightness, immediately "flew up and kick'd the beam." 

But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that 
these weights did not exert their natural gravity, till they 
were laid in the golden balance, insomuch that 1 could not 



The Golden Scales. 165 

guess which was light or heavy, whilst I held them in my 
hand. This I found by several instances, for upon my lay- 
ing a weight in one of the scales, Avhich was inscribed by 
the word Eternity ; though I threw in that of time, pros- 
perity, affliction, wealth, poverty, interest, success, with 
many other weights, which in my hand seemed very pon- 
derous, they were not able to stir the opposite balance, nor 
could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight 
of the sun, the stars, and the earth. 

Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and honors, 
with pomps, triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, 
in one of them, and seeing a little glittering weight lie by 
me, I threw it accidentally into the other scale, when, to my 
great surprise, it proved so exact a counterpoise, that it 
kept the balance in an equilibrium. This little glittering 
weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word 
Vanity. I found there were several other weights which 
were equally heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another; 
a few of them I tried, as avarice and poverty, riches and 
content, with some others. 

There were likewise several weights that were of the 
same figure, and seemed to correspond with each other, but 
were entirely different when thrown into the scales, as relig- 
ion and hypocrisy, pedantry and learning, wit and vivacity, 
superstition and devotion, gravity and wisdom, with many 
others. 

I observed one particular weight lettered on both sides, 
and upon applying myself to the reading of it, I found on 
one side written, "In the dialect of men," and underneath 
it, " CALAMITIES " ; ou tlic otlicr side was written, " In the 
language of the gods," and underneath, "blessings." I 
found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much greater 
than I imagined, for it overpowered health, wealth, good- 
fortune, and many other weights, which were much more 
ponderous in my hand than the other. 



166 Select Essays of Addison. 

There is a saying among the Scotch, that ^^an ounce of 
mother wit is worth a pound of clergy " ; I was sensible of 
the truth of this saying, when I saw the difference between 
the weight of natural parts and that of learning. The obser- 
vation which I made upon these two weights opened to me 
a new field of discoveries, for notwithstanding the weight 
of natural parts was much heavier than that of learning, I 
observed that it weighed an hundred times heavier than it 
did before, when 1 put learning into the same scale with it. 
I made the same observation upon faith and morality ; for 
notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former sepa- 
rately, it received a thousand times more additional weight 
from its conjunction with the former, than what it had by 
itself. This odd phenomenon showed itself in other par- 
ticulars, as in wit and judgment, philosophy and religion, 
justice and humanity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and 
perspicuity of style, with innumerable other particulars, 
too long to be mentioned in this paper. 

As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with 
impertinence, mirth with gravity, methought I made several 
other experiments of a more ludicrous nature, by one of 
which I found that an English octavo was very often heavier 
than a French folio ; and by another, that an old Greek or 
Latin author w^eighed down a whole library of moderns. 
Seeing one of my Spectators lying by me, I laid it into one 
of the scales, and flung a twopenny piece in the other. The 
reader will not inquire into the event, if he remembers the 
first trial which I have recorded in this paper. I afterwards 
threw both the sexes into the balance ; but as it is not for 
my interest to disoblige either of them, I shall desire to be 
excused from telling the result of this experiment. Having 
an opportunity of this nature in my hands, I could not for- 
bear throwing into one scale the princi23les of a Tory, and 
in the other those of a Whig ; but as I have all along 
declared this to be a neutral paper, I shall likewise desire 



Frozen Words, 167 

to be silent under this head also, though upon examining 
one of the weights, I saw the word TEKEL engraven on it 
in capital letters. 

I made many other experiments, and though I have not 
room for them all in this day's speculation, I may perhaps 
reserve them for another. I shall only add, that upon my 
awaking I was sorry to find my golden scales vanished, but 
resolved for the future to learn this lesson from them, not 
to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to 
regulate my esteem and passions towards them according 
to their real and intrinsic value. 



Tatler No. 254. Frozen words. 

There are no books which I more delight in than in 
travels, especially those that describe remote countries, and 
give the writer an opportunity of showing his parts without 
incurring any danger of being examined or contradicted. 
Among all the authors of this kind, our renowned country- 
man. Sir John Mandeville, has distinguished himself by the 
copiousness of his invention and the greatness of his genius. 
The second to Sir John I take to have been Ferdinand Men- 
dez Pinto, a person of infinite adventure and unbounded 
imagination. One reads the voyages of these two great 
wits with as much astonishment as the travels of Ulysses 
in Homer, or of the Red-Cross Knight in Spenser. All is 
enchanted ground, and fairy-land. 

I have got into my hands, by great chance, several manu- 
scripts of these two eminent authors, which are filled with 
greater wonders than any of those they have communicated 
to the public ; and indeed, were they not so well attested, 
they would appear altogether improbable. I am apt to 
think the ingenious authors did not publish them with the 
rest of their works, lest they should pass for fictions and 



168 Select Essays of Addison, 

fables : a caution not unnecessary, when the reputation of 
their veracity was not yet established in the world. But 
as this reason has now no farther weight, I shall make the 
public a present of these curious pieces, at such times as I 
shall find myself unprovided with other subjects. 

The present paper I intend to fill with an extract from 
Sir John's Journal, in which that learned and worthy 
knight gives an account of the freezing and thawing of 
several short speeches, which he made in the territories of 
Nova Zembla. I need not inform my reader, that the 
author of Hudibras alludes to this strange quality in that 
cold climate, when, speaking of abstracted notions clothed 
in a visible shape, he adds that apt simile. 

Like words congeal' d in northern air. 

Not to keep my reader any longer in suspense, the rela- 
tion put into modern language, is as follows : 

" We were separated by a storm in the latitude of seventy- 
three, insomuch, that only the ship which I was in, with a 
Dutch and French vessel, got safe into a creek of Nova 
Zembla. We landed in order to refit our vessels and store 
ourselves with provisions. The crew of each vessel made 
themselves a cabin of turf and wood, at some distance from 
each other, to fence themselves against the inclemencies of 
the weather, which was severe beyond imagination. We 
soon observed, that in talking to one another we lost sev- 
eral of our words, and could not hear one another at above 
two yards distance, and that too when we sat very near the 
fire. After much perplexity, I found that our words froze 
in the air, before they could reach the ears of the persons 
to whom they were spoken. I was soon confirmed in this 
conjecture, when, upon the increase of the cold, the whole 
company grew dumb, or rather deaf; for every man was 
sensible, as we afterwards found, that he spoke as well as 
ever; but the sounds no sooner took air than they were 



Frozen Words. 169 

condensed and lost. It was now a miserable spectacle to see 
us nodding and gaping at one another, every man talking, 
and no man heard. One might observe a seaman that could 
hail a ship at a league's distance, beckoning with his hand, 
straining his lungs, and tearing his throat ; but all in vain. 
" We continued here three weeks in this dismal plight. 
At length, upon a turn of wind, the air about us began to 
thaw. Our cabin was immediately filled with a dry clatter- 
ing sound, which I afterwards found to be the crackling 
of consonants that broke above our heads, and were often 
mixed with a gentle hissing, which I imputed to the letter 
s, that occurs so frequently in the English tongue. I soon 
after felt a breeze of whispers rushing by my ear ; for those, 
being of a soft and gentle substance, immediately liquefied in 
the warm wind that blew across our cabin. These were 
soon followed by syllables and short words, and at length by 
entire sentences, that melted sooner or later, as they were 
more or less congealed ; so that we now heard every thing 
that had been si^oken during the whole three weeks that we 
had been silent, if I may use that expression. It was now 
very early in the morning, and yet, to my surprise, I heard 
somebody say, ' Sir John, it is midnight, and time for the 
ship's crew to go to-bed.' This I knew to be the pilot's 
voice ; and, upon recollecting myself, I concluded that he 
had spoken these words to me some days before, though I 
could not hear them until the present thaw. IVIy reader 
will easily imagine how the whole crew was amazed to hear 
every man talking, and see no man opening his mouth. In 
the midst of this great surprise we were all in, we heard a 
volley of oaths and curses, lasting for a long while, and 
uttered in a very hoarse voice, which I knew belonged to 
the boatswain, who was a very choleric fellow, and had 
taken his opportunity of cursing and swearing at me, when 
he thought I could not hear him ; for I had several times 
given him the strappado on that account, as I did not fail 



170 Select Essays of Addiso7i. 

to repeat it for these his pious soliloquies, when I got him 
on ship-board. 

" I must not omit the names of several beauties in Wap- 
ping, which were heard every now and then, in the midst 
of a long sigh that accompanied them ; as, ' Dear Kate ! ' 
' Pretty Mrs. Peggy ! ' ' When shall I see my Sue again ! ' 
This betrayed several amours which had been concealed 
until that time, and furnished us with a great deal of mirth 
in our return to England. 

"When this confusion of voices was pretty well over, 
though I was afraid to offer at speaking, as fearing I should 
not be heard, I proposed a visit to the Dutch cabin, which 
lay about a mile farther up in the country. My crew were 
extremely rejoiced to find they had again recovered their 
hearing ; though every man uttered his voice with the same 
apprehensions that I had done. 

" At about half-a-mile's distance from our cabin we heard 
the groanings of a bear, which at first startled us ; but, upon 
inquiry, we were informed by some of our company, that he 
was dead, and now lay in salt, having been killed upon that 
very spot about a fortnight before, in the time of the frost. 
Not far from the same place, we were likewise entertained 
with some posthumous snarls and barkings of a fox. 

" We at length arrived at the little Dutch settlement ; 
and, upon entering the room, found it filled with sighs that 
smelt of brandy, and several other unsavory sounds, that 
were altogether inarticulate. My valet, who was an Irish- 
man, fell into so great a rage at what he heard, that he 
drew his sword ; but not knowing where to lay the blame, 
he put it up again. We were stunned with these confused 
noises, but did not hear a single word until about half-an- 
hour after ; which I ascribed to the harsh and obdurate 
sounds of that language, which wanted more time than ours 
to melt and become audible. 

" After having here met with a very hearty welcome, we 



Hilpa and Shalum. 171 

went to the cabin of the French, who, to make amends for 
their three weeks' silence, were talking and disputing with 
greater rapidity and confusion than I ever heard in an 
assembly, even of that nation. Their language, as I foiyad, 
upon the first giving of the weather, fell asunder and dis- 
solved. I was here convinced of an error, into which I had 
before fallen ; for I fancied, that for the freezing of the 
sound, it was necessary for it to be wrapped up, and, as it 
were, preserved in breath : but I found my mistake when I 
heard the sound of a kit playing a minuet over our heads. 
I asked the occasion of it ; upon which one of the company 
told me that it would play there above a week longer ; ^ for,' 
says he, ' finding ourselves bereft of speech, we prevailed 
upon one of the company, who had his musical instrument 
about him, to play to us from morning to night ; all which 
time was employed in dancing in order to dissipate our 
chagrin, et titer le tempsJ' 

Here Sir John gives very good philosophical reasons 
why the kit could not be heard during the frost ; but, as 
they are something prolix, I pass them over in silence, and 
shall only observe, that the honorable author seems, by his 
quotations, to have been well versed in the ancient poets, 
which perhaps raised his fancy above the ordinary pitch of 
historians, and very much contributed to the embellish- 
ments of his writings. 



Spectator No. 584. Hilpa and Shalum. 

Hilpa was one of the 150 daughters of Zilpah, of the 
race of Cohu, by whom some of the learned think is meant 
Cain. She was exceedingly beautiful, and when she was 
but a girl of three score and ten years of age, received the 
addresses of several who made love to her. Among these 
were two brothers, Harpath and Shalum. Harpath, being 



172 Select Essays of Addison, 

the first-born, was master of that fruitful region which lies 
at the foot of mount Tirzah, in the southern parts of China. 
Shalum (which is to say, the planter, in the Chinese lan- 
guage) possessed all the neighboring hills, and that great 
range of mountains which goes under the name of Tirzah. 
Harpath was of a haughty contemptuous spirit; Shalum 
was of a gentle disposition, beloved both by God and man. 

It is said that, among the antediluvian women, the 
daughters of Cohu had their minds wholly set upon riches ; 
for which reason the beautiful Hilpa preferred Harpath to 
Shalum, because of his numerous flocks and herds that 
covered all the low country which runs along the foot of 
mount Tirzah, and is watered by several fountains and 
streams breaking out of the sides of that mountain. 

Harpath made so quick a dispatch of his courtship, that 
he married Hilpa in the hundredth year of her age ; and 
being of an insolent temper, laughed to scorn his brother 
Shalum for having pretended to the beautiful Hilpa, when 
he was master of nothing but a long chain of rocks and 
mountains. This so much provoked Shalum, that he is 
said to have cursed his brother in the bitterness of his 
heart, and to have prayed that one of his mountains might 
fall upon his head if ever he came within the shadow of it. 

From this time forward Harpath would never venture 
out of the valleys, but came to an untimely end in the 250th 
year of his age, being drowned in a river as he attempted 
to cross it. This river is called to this very day, from his 
name who perished in it, the river Harpath, and what is 
very remarkable, issues out of one of those mountains which 
Shalum wished might fall upon his brother, when he cursed 
him in the bitterness of his heart. 

Hilpa was in the 160th year of her age at the death of 
her husband, having brought him but 50 children before he 
was snatched away, as has been already related. Many of 
the antediluvians made love to the young widow, though 



Hilpa and Shalum. 173 

no one was thought so likely to succeed in her affections as 
her first lover Shalum, who renewed his court to her about 
ten years after the death of Harpath ; for it was not thought 
decent in those days that a widow should be seen by a man 
within ten years after the decease of her husband. 

Shalum falling into a deep melancholy, and resolving to 
take away that objection which had been raised against him 
when he made his first addresses to Hilpa, began, imme- 
diately after her marriage with Harpath, to plant all that 
mountainous region which fell to his lot in the division of 
this country. He knew how to adapt every plant to its 
proper soil, and is thought to have inherited many tradi- 
tional secrets of that art from the first man. This employ- 
ment turned at length to his profit as well as his amusement ; 
his mountains were in a few years shaded with young trees, 
that gradually shot up into groves, woods, forests, inter- 
mixed with walks and lawns and gardens ; insomuch that 
the whole region, from a naked and desolate prospect, began 
now to look like a second paradise. The pleasantness of 
the place, and the agreeable disposition of Shalum, who was 
reckoned one of the mildest and wisest of all who lived 
before the flood, drew into it multitudes of people, who 
were perpetually employed in the sinking of wells, the 
digging of trenches, and the hollowing of trees, for the 
better distribution of water through every part of this 
spacious plantation. 

The habitations of Shalum looked every year more beau- 
tiful in the eyes of Hilpa, who, after the space of 70 au- 
tumns, was wonderfully pleased with the distant prospect 
of Shalum's hills, which were then covered with innumer- 
able tufts of trees, and gloomy scenes that gave a magnifi- 
cence to the place, and converted it into one of the finest 
landscapes the eye of man could behold. 

The Chinese record a letter which Shalum is said to have 
written to Hilpa in the eleventh year of her widowhood. . I 



174 Select Esmiya of Addison. 

shall here translate it, without departing from that noble 
simplicity of sentiments and plainness of manners which 
appears in the original. 

Shalum was at this time 180 years old, and Hilpa 170. 

Shahim, master of mount Tirzah, to Hilpa, mistress of the valleys. 

In the 78Sth year of the creation. 

What have I not suffered, thou daughter of Zilpah, since thou 
gavest thyself away in marriage to my rival ? I grew weary of the 
light of the sun, and have been ever since covering myself with woods 
and forests. These threescore and ten years have I bewailed the loss 
of thee on the top of mount Tirzah, and soothed my melancholy among 
a thousand gloomy shades of my own raising. My dwellings are at 
present as the garden of God ; every part of them is filled with fruits 
and flowers and fountains. The whole mountain is perfumed for thy 
reception. Come up into it, O my beloved. Remember, thou 
daughter of Zilpah, that the age of man is but a thousand years ; that 
beauty is but the admiration of a few centuries. It flourishes as a 
mountain oak, or as a cedar on the top of Tirzah, which in three or 
four hundred years will fade away, and never be thought of by poster- 
ity, unless a young wood springs from its roots. Think well on this, 
and remember thy neighbor in the mountains. 

Having here inserted this letter, which I look upon as the 
only antediluvian billet doux now extant, I shall in my next 
paper give the answer to it, and the sequel of this story. 



Spectator No. 585. The sequel of the story of Hilpa and Shalum. 

The letter inserted in my last had so good an effect upon 
Hilpa, that she answered it in less than a twelvemonth, after 
the following manner. 

Hilpa, mistress of the valleys, to Shalum, master of mount Tirzah. 

In the year 789 of the creation. 

What have I to do with thee, Shalum ? Thou praisest Hilpa' s 
beauty, but art thou not secretly enamored with the verdure of her 
meadows ? Art thou not more affected with the prospect of her greei; 



Hilpa and Shalum. 175 

valleys, than thou wouldst be with the sight of her person ? The low- 
ings of my herds, and the bleatings of my flocks, make a pleasant echo 
in thy mountains, and sound sweetly in thy ears. What though I am 
delighted with the wavings of thy forests, and those breezes of per- 
fumes wiiich flow from the top of Tirzah : are these like the riches of 
the valley ? 

I know thee, Shalum ; thou art more wise and happy than 
any of the sons of men. Thy dwellings are among the cedars ; thou 
searchest out the diversity of soils, thou understandest the influences 
of the stars, and markest the change of seasons. Can a woman ap- 
pear lovely in the eyes of such a one ? Disquiet me not, Shalum ; 
let me alone that I may enjoy those goodly possessions which are 
fallen to my lot. Win me not by thy enticing words. May thy trees 
increase and multiply ; mayest thou add wood to wood, and shade to 
shade ; but tempt not Hilpa to destroy thy solitude, and make thy 
retirement populous. 

The Chinese say, that a little time afterwards she accepted 
of a treat in one of the neighboring hills to which Shalum 
had invited her. This treat lasted for two years, and is 
said to have cost Shalum five hundred antelopes, two thou- 
sand ostriches, and a thousand tun of milk ; but what most 
of all recommended it was that variety of delicious fruits 
and pot-herbs, in Avhich no person then living could any way 
equal Shalum. 

He treated her in the bower which he had planted amidst 
the wood of nightingales. This wood was made up of such 
fruit trees and plants as are most agreeable to the several 
kinds of singing birds ; so that it had drawn into it all the 
music of the country, and was filled from one end of the 
year to the other with the most agreeable concert in season. 

He showed her every day some beautiful and surprising 
scene in this new region of wood-lands ; and as by this 
means he had all the opportunities he con Id wish for of 
opening his mind to her, he succeeded so well, that upon 
her departure she made him a kind of promise, and gave 
him her word to return him a positive answer in less than 
fifty years. 



176 Select Essays of Addison. 

She had not been long among her own people in the val- 
leys, when she received new overtures, and at the same 
time a most splendid visit from Mishpach, who was a mighty 
man of old, and had built a great city, which he called after 
his own name. Every house was made for at least a thou- 
sand years, nay, there were some that were leased out for 
three lives ; so that the quantity of stone and timber con- 
sumed in this building is scarce to be imagined by those 
who live in the present age of the world. This great man 
entertained her with the voice of musical instruments which 
had been lately invented, and danced before her to the 
sound of the timbrel. He also presented her with several 
domestic utensils wrought in brass and iron, which had been 
newly found out for the conveniency of life. In the mean 
time Shalum grew very uneasy with himself, and was sorely 
displeased at Hilpa for the reception which she had given 
to Mishpach, insomuch that he never wrote to her or spoke 
of her during a whole revolution of Saturn ; but finding that 
this intercourse went no further than a visit, he again renewed 
his addresses to her, who, during his long silence, is said very 
often to have cast a wishing eye upon mount Tirzah. 

Her mind continued wavering about twenty years longer 
between Shalum and Mishpach ; for though her inclinations 
favored the former, her interest pleaded very powerfully 
for the other. While her heart was in this unsettled con- 
dition, the following accident happened, which determined 
her choice. A high tower of wood that stood in the city of 
Mishpach, having caught fire by a flash of lightning, in 
a few days reduced the whole town to ashes. Mishpach 
resolved to rebuild the place whatever it should cost him : 
and having already destroyed all the timber of the country, 
he was forced to have recourse to Shalum, whose forests 
were now two hundred years old. He purchased these woods 
with so many herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, and with 
such a vast extent of fields and pastures, that Shalum was 



Thoughts in Westminster Ahhey, 177 

now grown more wealthy than Mishpach; and therefore 
appeared so charming in the eyes of Zilpah's daughter, that 
she no longer refused him in marriage. On the day in which 
he brought her up into the mountains he raised a most pro- 
digious pile of cedar, and of every sweet- smelling wood, 
which reached above three hundred cubits in height : he 
also cast into the pile bundles of myrrh and sheaves of 
spikenard, enriching it with every spicy shrub, and making 
it fat with the gums of his plantations. This was the burnt- 
offering which Shalum offered in the day of his espousals : 
the smoke of it ascended up to heaven, and filled the whole 
country with incense and perfume. 



Spectator No. 26. Thoughts in Westminster Ahbey. 

When I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by my- 
self in Westminster Abbey ; where the gloominess of the 
place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity 
of the building, and the condition of the people who lie in 
it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or 
rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yesterday 
passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, the cloisters, 
and the church, amusing myself with the tombstones and 
inscriptions which I met with in those several regions of 
the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried 
person, but that he was born upon one day, and died upon 
another : the whole history of his life being comprehended 
in those two circumstances, that are common to all man- 
kind. I could not but look u^^on these registers of existence, 
whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the 
departed persons ; who had left no other memorial of them 
but that they were born and that they died. They put me 
in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of heroic 
poems, who have sounding names given them, for no other 



178 Select Essays of Addison. 

reason but that they may be killed, and are celebrated for 
nothing but being knocked on the head. The life of these 
men is finely described in holy writ by "the path of an 
arrow," which is immediately closed up and lost. 

Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself 
with the digging of a grave ; and saw in every shovelful of 
it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull inter- 
mixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth, that some time 
or other had a place in the composition of a human body. 
Upon this I began to consider with myself what innumer- 
able multitudes of people lay confused together under the 
pavement of that ancient cathedral ; how men and women, 
friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and pre- 
bendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended 
together in the same common mass ; how beauty, strength, 
and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay un- 
distinguished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mor- 
tality, as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particu- 
larly by the accounts which I found on several of the mon- 
uments which are raised in every quarter of that ancient 
fabric. Some of them were covered with such extravagant 
epitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to be 
acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which 
his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so 
excessively modest, that they deliver the character of the 
person departed in Greek or Hebrew, and by that means 
are not understood once in a twelvemonth. In the poetical 
quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, 
and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, 
that the present war had filled the church with many of 
these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to 
the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried 
in the plains of Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 

I could not but be very much delighted with several 



Thoughts in Westminister Ahhey. 179 

modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of 
expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honor 
to the living as well as to the dead. As a foreigner is very 
apt to conceive an idea of the ignorance or politeness of a 
nation, from the turn of their public monuments and inscrip- 
tions, they should be submitted to the perusal of men of 
learning and genius, before they are put in execution. Sir 
Cloudesly Shovel's monument has very often given me great 
offence : instead of the brave rough English Admiral, which 
was the distinguishing character of that plain gallant man, 
he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed 
in a long periwig, and reposing himself upon velvet cushions 
under a canopy of state. The inscription is answerable to 
the monument ; for instead of celebrating the many remark- 
able actions he had performed in the service of his country, 
it acquaints us only v/ith the manner of his death, in which 
it was impossible for him to reap any honor. The Dutch, 
whom we are apt to despise for want of genius, show an 
infinitely greater taste of antiquity and politeness in their 
buildings and works of this nature, than what we meet with 
in those of our own country. The monuments of their 
admirals, which have been erected at the public expense, 
represent them like themselves ; and are adorned with 
rostral crowns and naval ornaments, with beautiful festoons 
of seaweed, shells, and coral. 

But to return to our subject. I have left the repository 
of our English kings for the contemplation of another day, 
when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amuse- 
ment. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt 
to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and 
gloomy imaginations ; but for my own part, though I am 
always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy ; 
and can therefore take a view of nature in her deep and 
solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay 
and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself 



180 Select Essays of Addison, 

with those objects which others consider with terror. When 
I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy 
dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every 
inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of 
parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart melts with compassion ; 
when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider 
the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly 
follow ; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, 
when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy 
men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, 
I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little com- 
petitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read 
the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, 
and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day 
when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our 
appearance together. 



Spectator No. 343. Transmigrations of Pugg the monkey. 

Will Honeycomb, who loves to show upon occasion all 
the little learning he has picked up, told us yesterday at 
the club, that he thought there might be a great deal said 
for the transmigration of souls, and that the eastern parts 
of the world believed in that doctrine to this day. "Sir 
Paul Eycaut," says he, " gives us an account of several well- 
disposed Mahometans that purchase the freedom of any lit- 
tle bird they see confined to a cage, and think they merit as 
much by it, as we should do here by ransoming any of our 
countrymen from their captivity at Algiers. You must 
know," says Will, "the reason is, because they consider 
every animal as a brother or sister in disguise, and think 
themselves obliged to extend their charity to them, though 
under such mean circumstances. They'll tell you," says 
Will, "that the soul of a man, when he dies, immediately 



Transmigrations of Pugg the Monkey. 181 

passes into the body of another man, or of some brute, which, 
he resembled in his humor, or his fortune, when he was one 
of us." 

As I was wondering what this profusion of learning would 
end in, Will told us that Jack Freelove, who was a fellow 
of whim, made love to one of those ladies who throw away- 
all their fondness on parrots, monkeys, and lap-dogs. Upon 
going to pay her a visit one morning, he wrote a pretty 
epistle upon this hint. " Jack," says he, " was conducted 
into the parlor, where he diverted himself for some time 
with her favorite monkey, which was chained in one of the 
windows ; till at length, observing a pen and ink lie by him, 
he writ the following letter to his mistress, in the person of 
the monkey ; and upon her not coming down so soon as 
he expected, left it in the window, and went about his busi- 
ness. 

" The lady soon after coming into the parlor, and seeing 
her monkey look upon a paper with great earnestness, took 
it up, and to this day is in some doubt," says Will, "whether 
it was writ by Jack or the monkey." 

Madam, 

Not having the gift of speech, I have a long time waited in vain 
for an opportunity of making myself known to you ; and having at 
present the conveniences of pen, ink, and paper by me, I gladly take 
the occasion of giving you my history in writing, which I could not do 
by word of mouth. You must know, Madam, that about a thousand 
years ago I was an Indian Brachman, and versed in all those mysteri- 
ous secrets which your European philosopher, called Pythagoras, is 
said to have learned from our fraternity. I had so ingratiated myself 
by my great skill in the occult sciences with a dsemon whom I used 
to converse with, that he promised to grant me whatever I should ask 
of him. I desired that my soul might never pass into the body of a 
brute creature ; but this he told me was not in his power to grant me. 
I then begged, that into whatever creature I should chance to trans- 
migrate, I might still retain my memory, and be conscious that I was 
the same person who lived in different animals. This he told me was 
within his power, and accordingly promised on the word of a daemon 



182 Select Essays of Addison, 

that he would grant me what I desired. From that time forth I lived 
so very unblamably, that I was made president of a college of Brach- 
mans, an office which I discharged with great integrity till the day of 
my death. 

I was then shuffled into another human body, and acted my part 
so very well in it, that I became first minister to a prince who reigned 
upon the banks of the Ganges. I here lived in great honor for several 
years, but by degrees lost all the innocence of the Brachman, being 
obliged to rifle and oppress the people to enrich my sovereign : till at 
length I became so odious, that my master, to recover his credit with 
his subjects, shot me through the heart with an arrow, as I was one 
day addressing myself to him at the head of his army. 

Upon my next remove I found myself in the woods, under the 
shape of a jackall, and soon listed myself in the service of a lion. I 
used to yelp near his den about midnight, which was his time of rous- 
ing and seeking after his prey. lie always followed me in the rear, 
and when I had run down a fat buck, a wild goat, or an hare, after 
he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then 
throw me a bone that was but half picked for my encouragement ; but 
upon my being unsuccessful in two or three chases, he gave me such 
a confounded gripe in his anger, that I died of it. 

In my next transmigration I was again set upon two legs, and 
became an Indian tax-gatherer ; but having been guilty of great 
extravagances, and being married to an expensive jade of a wife, I 
ran so cursedly in debt, that I durst not show my head, I could no 
sooner step out of my house, but I was arrested by somebody or other 
that lay in wait for me. As I ventured abroad one night in the dusk 
of the evening, I was taken up and hurried into a dungeon, where I 
died a few months after. 

My soul then entered into a flying-fish, and in that state led a 
most melancholy life for the space of six years. Several fishes of prey 
pursued me when I was in the water, and if I betook myself to my 
wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of birds aiming at me. As 
I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English ships, I observed a huge 
sea-gull whetting his bill and hovering just over my head : upon my 
dipping into the water to avoid him, I fell into the mouth of a mon- 
strous shark, that swallowed me down in an instant. 

I was some years afterwards, to my great surprise, an eminent 
banker in Lombard-street; and remembering how I had formerly 
suffered for want of money, became so very sordid and avaricious, 
that the whole town cried shame of me. I was a miserable little old 



Transmi(jrat'ions of Pugg the Monkeg. 183 

fellow to look upon, for I had in a manner starved myself, and was 
nothing but skin and bone when I died. 

I was afterwards very much troubled and amazed to find myself 
dwindled into an emmet, I was heartily concerned to make so insig- 
nificant a figure, and did not know but some time or other I might be 
reduced to a mite if I did not mend my manners. I therefore applied 
myself with greater diligence to the offices that were allotted me, and 
was generally looked upon as the notablest ant in the whole molehill. 
I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a burden, by an 
unlucky cock-sparrow that lived in our neighborhood, and had before 
made great depredations upon our commonwealth. 

I then bettered my condition a little, and lived a whole summer 
in the shape of a bee ; but being tired with the painful and penurious 
life I had undergone in my two last transmigrations, I fell into the 
other extreme, and turned drone. As I one day headed a party to 
plunder a hive, we were received so warmly by the swarm which 
defended it, that we were most of us left dead upon the spot. 

I might tell you of many other transmigrations I went through ; 
how I was a town-rake, and afterwards did penance in a bay horse 
for ten years ; as also how I was a tailor, a shrimp, and a tom-tit. 
In the last of these my shapes I was shot in the Christmas holidays 
by a young jack-a-napes, who would needs try his new gun upon 
me. 

But I shall pass over these and several other stages of life, to 
remind you of the young beau who made love to you about six years 
since. You may remember. Madam, how he masked, and danced, 
and sung, and played a thousand tricks to gain you ; and how he was 
at last carried off by a cold that he got under your window one night 
in a serenade. I was that unfortunate young fellow, whom you were 
then so cruel to. Not long after my shifting that unlucky body, I 
found myself upon a hill in ^Ethiopia, where I lived in my present 
grotesque shape, till I was caught by a servant of the English factory 
and sent over into Great Britain : I need not inform you how I came 
into your hands. You see. Madam, this is not the first time you have 
had me in a cliain : I am, however, very happy in this my captivity, 
as you often bestow on me those kindnesses which I would have given 
the world for, when I was a man. I hope this discovery of my person 
will not tend to my disadvantage, but that you will still continue your 
accustomed favors to 

Your most devoted humble servant. 

Pugg. 



184 Select Essays of Addison. 

p.S. — I would advise your little shock-dog to keep out of my 
way : for, as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my rivals, 
I may chance one time or other to give him such a snap as he won't 
like. 



Spectator No. 452. Eagerness for neics ridiculed. 

There is no humor in my countrj^men, which I am more 
inclined to wonder at, than their general thirst after news. 
There are about half a dozen ingenious men, who live very 
plentifully upon this curiosity of their fellow-subjects. 
They all of them receive the same advices from abroad, and 
very often in the same words ; but their way of cooking it 
is so different, that there is no citizen, who has an eye to 
the public good, that can leave the coffee-house with peace 
of mind, before he has given every one of them a reading. 
These several dishes of news are so very agreeable to the 
palate of my countrymen, that they are not onl}^ pleased 
with them when they are served up hot, but when they are 
again set cold before them by those penetrating politicians, 
who oblige the public with their reflections and observations 
upon every piece of intelligence that is sent us from abroad. 
The text is given us by one set of writers, and the comment 
by another. 

But notwithstanding we have the same tale told us in so 
many different papers, and if occasion requires, in so many 
articles of the same paper ; notwithstanding a scarcity of 
foreign posts we hear the same story repeated, by different 
advices from Paris, Brussels, the Hague, and from every 
great town in Europe ; notwithstanding the multitude of 
annotations, explanations, reflections, and various readings 
which it passes through, our time lies heavy on our hands 
till the arrival of a fresh mail : we long to receive further 
particulars, to hear what will be the next step, or what will 
be the consequence of that which has been lately taken. A 



Eagerness for Neics. 185 

westerly wind keeps the whole town in suspense, and puts 
a stop to conversation. 

This general curiosity has been raised and inflamed by 
our late wars, and, if rightly directed, might be of good use 
to a person who has such a thirst awakened in him. Why 
should not a man who takes delight in reading everything 
that is new, apply himself to history, travels, and other 
writings of the same kind, where he will find perpetual fuel 
for his curiosity, and meet with much more pleasure and 
improvement, than in these papers of the week ? An honest 
tradesman, who languishes a whole summer in expectation 
of a battle, and perhaps is balked at last, may here meet 
with half a dozen in a day. He may read the news of a 
whole campaign in less time than he now bestows upon the 
products of any single post. Fights, conquests, and revolu- 
tions, lie thick together. The reader's curiosity is raised 
and satisfied every moment, and his passions disappointed 
or gratified, without being detained in a state of uncertainty 
from day to day, or lying at the mercy of sea and wind. In 
short, the mind is not here kept in a perpetual gape after 
knowledge, nor punished with that eternal thirst which is 
the portion of all our modern newsmongers and coffee-house 
politicians. 

All matters of fact, which a man did not know before, 
are news to him ; and I do not see how any haberdasher in 
Cheapside is more concerned in the present quarrel of the 
Cantons, than he was in that of the League. At least, I 
believe every one will allow me, it is of more importance 
to an Englishman to know the history of his ancestors, than 
that of his contemporaries who live upon the banks of the 
Danube or the Borysthenes. As for those who are of au other 
mind, I shall recommend to them the following letter, from 
a projector, who is willing to turn a penny by this remark- 
able curiosity of his countrymen. 



186 Select Essays of Addison. 

Mr. Spectator, 

You must have observed, that men who frequent coffee-houses, and 
delight in news, are pleased with everything that is matter of fact, so 
it be what they have not heard before. A victory, or a defeat, are 
equally agreeable to them. The shutting of a cardinal's mouth pleases 
them one post, and the opening of it another. They are glad to hear 
the French court is removed to Marli, and are afterwards as much 
delighted with its return to Versailles. They read the advertisements 
with the same curiosity as the articles of public news ; and are as 
pleased to hear of a piebald horse that is strayed out of a field near 
Islington, as of a whole troop that has been engaged in any foreign 
adventure. In short, they have a relish for everything that is news, 
let the matter of it be what it will ; or to speak more properly, they 
are men of a voracious appetite, but no taste. Now, sir, since the great 
fountain of news, I mean the war, is very near being dried up ; and 
since these gentlemen have contracted such an inextinguishable thirst 
after it ; I have taken their case and my own into consideration, and 
have thought of a project which may turn to the advantage of us both. 
I have thoughts of publishing a daily paper, which shall comprehend 
in it all the most remarkable occurrences in every little town, village, 
and hamlet, that lies within ten miles of London, or in other words, 
within the verge of the penny -post. I have pitched upon this scene of 
intelligence for two reasons ; first, because the carriage of letters will 
be very cheap ; and secondly, because I may receive them every day. 
By this means my readers will have their news fresh and fresh, and 
many worthy citizens, who cannot sleep with any satisfaction at present, 
for want of being informed how the world goes, may go to bed con- 
tentedly, it being my design to put out my paper every night at nine-a- 
clock precisely. I have already established correspondences in these 
several places, and received very good intelligence. 

By my last advices from Knightsbridge I hear that a horse was 
clapped into the pound on the third instant, and that he was not 
released when the letters came away. 

We are informed from Pankridge, that a dozen weddings were lately 
celebrated in the mother-church of that place, but are referred to their 
next letters for the names of the parties concerned. 

Letters from Brompton advise, that the widow Blight had received 
several visits from John Mildew, which affords great matter of specu- 
lation in those parts. 

By a fisherman which lately touched at Hammersmith, there is 
advice from Putney, that a certain person well known in that place, is 



Omens. 187 

like to lose his election for churchwarden ; but this being boat- news, 
we cannot give entire credit to it. 

They advise from Fulham, that things remained there in the same 
state they were. They had intelligence, just as the letters came away, 
of a tub of excellent ale just set a-broach at Parson's Green ; but this 
wanted confirmation. 

I have here, sir, given you a specimen of the news with which I 

intend to entertain the town, and which, when drawn up regularly in 

the form of a newspaper, will, I doubt not, be very acceptable to many 

of those public- spirited readers, who take more delight in acquainting 

themselves with other people's business than their own. I hope a 

paper of this kind, which lets us know what is done near home, may 

be more useful to us than those which are filled with advices from Zug 

and Bender, and make some amends for that dearth of intelligence, 

which we justly apprehend from times of peace. If I find that you 

receive this project favorably, I will shortly trouble you with one 

or two more ; and in the mean time am, most worthy sir, with all 

due respect, 

Your most obedient and most humble servant. 



Spectator No. 7. Omens. 

Going yesterday to dine witli an old acquaintance, I had 
the misfortune to find his whole family very much dejected. 
Upon asking him the occasion of it, he told rne that his 
wife had dreamt a strange dream the night before, which 
they were afraid portended some misfortune to themselves or 
to their children. At her coming into the room, I observed 
a settled melancholy in her countenance, which I should 
have been troubled for, had I not heard from whence it 
proceeded. We were no sooner sat down, but, after having 
looked upon me a little while, "My dear," says she, turning 
to her husband, '-you may now see the stranger that was in 
the candle last night." Soon after this, as they began to 
talk of family affairs, a little boy at the lower end of the 
table told her, that he was to go into join-hand on Thursday. 
" Thursday I " says she. " No, child, if it please God, you 



188 Select Essays of Addison. 

shall not begin upon Childermas-da}^ : tell your writing 
master that Friday will be soon enough." I was reflecting 
with myself on the oddness of her fancy, and wondering 
that anybody would establish it as a rule to lose a day in 
every week. In the midst of these my musings, she desired 
me to reach her a little salt upon the point of my knife, 
which I did in such a trepidation and hurry of obedience, 
that I let it drop by the way ; at which she immediately 
startled, and said it fell towards her. Upon this I looked 
very blank ; and observing the concern of the whole table, 
began to consider myself, with some confusion, as a person 
that had brought a disaster upon the family. The lady, 
however, recovering herself, after a little space, said to her 
husband, with a sigh, "My dear, misfortunes never come 
single." My friend, I found, acted but an under part at 
his table, and being a man of more good-nature than under- 
standing, thinks himself obliged to fall in with all the 
passions and humors of his yoke-fellow. " Do not you 
remember, child," says she, "that the pigeon-house fell the 
very afternoon that our careless wench spilt the salt upon 
the table ? " "Yes," says he, "my dear; and the next post 
brought us an account of the battle of Almanza." The 
reader may guess at the figure I made, after having done all 
this mischief. I despatched my dinner as soon as I could, 
with my usual taciturnity; when, to my utter confusion, 
the lady seeing me quitting my knife and fork, and laying 
them across one another upon my plate, desired me that I 
would humor her so far as to take them out of that figure, 
and place them side by side. What the absurdity w^as 
which I had committed I did not know, but I suppose there 
was some traditionary superstition in it; and therefore in 
obedience to the lady of the house, I disposed of my knife 
and fork in two parallel lines, which is the figure I shall 
always lay them in for the future, though I do not know 
any reason for it. 



Omens. 189 

It is not difficult for a man to see that a person has con- 
ceived an aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly 
found, by the lady's looks, that she regarded me as a very 
odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect. For which 
reason I took my leave immediately after dinner, and with- 
drew to my own lodgings. Upon my return home, I fell 
into a profound contemplation of the evils that attend these 
superstitious follies of mankind ; how they subject us to 
imaginary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not 
properly come within our lot. As if the natural calamities 
of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent 
circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from 
trifling accidents as from real evils. I have known the shoot- 
ing of a star spoil a night's rest ; and have seen a man in 
love grow pale, and lose his appetite, upon the plucking of 
a merry-thought. A screech-owl at midnight has alarmed 
a family more than a band of robbers : nay, the voice of a 
cricket hath struck more terror than the roaring of a lion. 
There is nothing so inconsiderable, which may not appear 
dreadful to an imagination that is filled with omens and 
prognostics. A rusty nail, or a crooked pin, shoot up into 
prodigies. 

For my own part, I should be very much troubled were 
I endowed with this divining quality, though it should 
inform me truly of everything that can befall me. I would 
not anticipate the relish of any happiness, nor feel the 
weight of any misery, before it actually arrives. 

I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these 
gloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by secur- 
ing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being 
who disposes of events, and governs futurity. He sees at 
one view the whole thread of my existence ; not only that 
part of it which I have already passed through, but that 
which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. When 
I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care ; 



190 Select Essays of Addison. 

when I awake, I give myself up to his direction. Amidst 
all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for 
help, and question not but he will either avert them, or 
turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the 
time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at 
all solicitous about it; because I am sure that he knows 
them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support 
me under them. 



Spectator No. 12. Ghost-stories. 

At my coming to London, it was some time before I could 
settle myself in a house to my liking. I was forced to quit 
my first lodgings, by reason of an officious landlady, that 
would be asking me every morning how 1 had slept. I then 
fell into an honest family, and lived very happily for above 
a week ; when my landlord, who was a jolly good-natured 
man, took it into his head that I wanted company, and there- 
fore would frequently come into my chamber to keep me 
from being alone. This I bore for two or three days ; but 
telling me one day that he was afraid I was melancholy, I 
thought it was high time for me to be gone, and accordingly 
took new lodgings that very night. About a week after, I 
found my jolly landlord, who, as I said before, was an honest 
hearty man, had put me into an advertisement of the Daily 
Courant, in the following words, '' Whereas a melancholy 
man left his lodgings on Thursday last in the afternoon, and 
was afterwards seen going towards Islington ; if any one can 
give notice of him to R. B., fishmonger in the Strand, he 
shall be very well rewarded for his pains." As I am the 
best man in the world to keep my own counsel, and my land- 
lord the fishmonger not knowing my name, this accident of 
my life was never discovered to this very day. 

I am now settled with a widow-woman, who has a great 
many children, and complies with my humor in everything. 



Ghost-Stories. 191 

I do not remember that we have exchanged a word together 
these five years ; my coffee comes into my chamber every 
morning without asking for it ; if I want fire I point to my 
chimney, if water to my basin : upon which my landlady 
nods, as much as to say she takes my meaning, and imme- 
diately obeys my signals. She has likewise modelled her 
family so well, that when her little boy offers to pull me by 
the coat, or prattle in my face, his eldest sister immediately 
calls him off, and bids him not disturb the gentleman. At 
my first entering into the family, I was troubled with the 
civility of their rising up to me every time I came into the 
room ; but my landlady observing, that upon these occasions 
I always cried pish ! and went out again, has forbidden any 
such ceremony to be used in the house ; so that at present 
I walk into the kitchen or parlor, without being taken notice 
of, or giving any interruption to the business or discourse 
of the family. The maid will ask her mistress, though I am 
by, whether the gentleman is ready to go to dinner, as the 
mistress, who is indeed an excellent housewife, scolds at 
the servants as heartily before my face as behind my back. 
In short, I move up and down the house, and enter into all 
companies with the same liberty as a cat or any other domes- 
tic animal, and am as little suspected of telling anything 
that I hear or see. 

I remember last winter there were several young girls of 
the neighborhood sitting about the fire with my landlady's 
daughters, and telling stories of spirits and apparitions. 
Upon my opening the door the young women broke off their 
discourse, but my landlady's daughters telling them that it 
was nobody but the gentleman, for that is the name which 
I go by in the neighborhood as well as in the family, they 
went on without minding me. I seated myself by the candle 
that stood on a table at one end of the room ; and pretending 
to read a book that I took out of my pocket, heard several 
dreadful stories of ghosts as pale as ashes, that had stood at 



192 Select Essays of Addison, 

the feet of a bed, or walked over a church-yard by moon-light; 
and of others that had been conjured into the Red sea, for 
disturbing people's rest, and drawing their curtains at mid- 
night, with many other old women's fables of the like nature. 
As one spirit raised another, I observed that at the end of 
every story the whole company closed their ranks, and 
crowded about the fire : I took notice, in particular, of a 
little boy, who was so attentive to every story, that I am 
mistaken if he ventures to go to bed by himself this twelve- 
month. Indeed they talked so long, that the imaginations 
of the whole assembly were manifestly crazed, and, I am 
sure, will be the worse for it as long as they live. I heard 
one of the girls, that had looked upon me over her shoulder, 
asking the company how long I had been in the room, and 
whether I did not look paler than I used to do. This put 
me under some apprehensions, that I should be forced to 
explain myself if I did not retire ; for which reason I took 
the candle in my hand, and went up into my chamber, not 
without wondering at this unaccountable weakness in reason- 
able creatures, that they should love to astonish and terrify 
one another. Were I a father, I should take a particular 
care to preserve my children from these little horrors of 
imagination, which they are apt to contract when they are 
young, and are not able to shake off when they are in years. 
I have known a soldier that has entered a breach, affrighted 
at his own shadow ; and look pale upon a little scratching 
at his door, who, the day before, had marched up against a 
battery of cannon. There are instances of persons, who 
have been terrified even to distraction at the figure of a tree, 
or the shaking of a bull-rush. The truth of it is, I look 
upon a sound imagination as the greatest blessing of life, 
next to a clear judgment and a good conscience. In the 
mean time, since there are very few whose minds are not 
more or less subject to these dreadful thoughts and appre- 
hensions, we ought to arm ourselves against them by the 



Libels and Lampoons, 193 

dictates of reason and religion, to pull the old woman out of 
our hearts, as Persius expresses it, and extinguish those im- 
pertinent notions which we imbibed at a time that we were 
not able to judge of their absurdity. Or, if we believe, as 
many wise and good men have done, that there are such 
phantoms and apparitions as those I have been speaking 
of, let us endeavor to establish to ourselves an interest in 
Him who holds the reins of the whole creation in his hand, 
and moderates them after such a manner, that it is impos- 
sible for one being to break loose upon another, without 
his knowledge and permission. 



Spectator No. 23. Against the autJwrs of libels and lampoons. 

There is nothing that more betrays a base ungenerous 
spirit, than the giving of secret stabs to a man's reputation. 
Lampoons and satires, that are written with wit and spirit, 
are like poisoned darts, which not only inflict a wound, but 
make it incurable. For this reason I am very much troubled 
when I see the talents of humor and ridicule in the possession 
of an ill-natured man. There cannot be a greater gratification 
to a barbarous and inhuman wit, than to stir up sorrow in 
the heart of a private person, to raise uneasiness among near 
relations, and to expose whole families to derision, at the 
same time that he remains unseen and undiscovered. If, 
besides the accomplishments of being witty and ill-natured, 
a man is vicious into the bargain, he is one of the most 
mischievous creatures that can enter into a civil society. 
His satire will then chiefly fall upon those who ought to be 
the most exempt from it. Virtue, merit, and everything 
that is praiseworthy, will be made the subject of ridicule 
and buffoonery. It is impossible to enumerate the evils 
which arise from these arrows that fly in the dark, and I 
know no other excuse that is or can be made for them, than 



194 Select Essays of Addison, 

that the wounds they give are only imaginary, and produce 
nothing more than a secret shame or sorrow in the mind of 
the suffering person. It must indeed be confessed, that a 
lampoon or a satire do not carry in them robbery or murder; 
but at the same time, how many are there that would not 
rather lose a considerable sum of money, or even life itself, 
than be set up as a mark of infamy and derision ? and in 
this case a man should consider that an injury is not to be 
measured by the notions of him that gives, but of him that 
receives it. 

Those who can put the best countenance upon the out- 
rages of this nature which are offered them, are not without 
their secret anguish. I have often observed a passage in 
Socrates's behavior at his death, in a light wherein none of 
the critics have considered it. That excellent man, enter- 
taining his friends, a little before he drank the bowl of 
poison, with a discourse on the immortality of the soul, at 
his entering upon it, says, that he does not believe any the 
most comic genius can censure him for talking upon such 
a subject at such a time. This passage, I think, evidently 
glances upon Aristophanes, who writ a comedy on purpose 
to ridicule the discourses of that divine philosopher. It 
has been observed by many writers, that Socrates was so 
little moved at this piece of buffoonery, that he was several 
times present at its being acted upon the stage, and never 
expressed the least resentment at it. But, with submission, 
I think the remark I have here made shows us, that this 
unworthy treatment made an impression upon his mind, 
though he had been too wise to discover it. 

When Julius Caesar was lampooned by Catullus, he invited 
him to a supper, and treated him with such a generous 
civility, that he made the poet his friend ever after. Cardi- 
nal Mazarin gave the same kind of treatment to the learned 
Quillet, who had reflected upon his Eminence in a famous 
Latin poem. The Cardinal sent for him, and after some 



Libels and Lampoons. 195 

kind expostulations upon what he had written, assured him 
of his esteem, and dismissed him with a promise of the next 
good abbey that shoukl fall, which he accordingly conferred 
upon him in a few months after. This had so good an effect 
upon the author, that he dedicated the second edition of his 
book to the Cardinal, after having expunged the passages 
which had given him offence. 

Sextus Quintus was not of so generous and forgiving a 
temper. Upon his being made pope, the statue of Pasquin 
was one night dressed in a very dirty shirt, with an excuse 
written under it, that he was forced to wear foul linen, 
because his laundress was made a princess. This was a 
reflection upon the pope's sister, who, before the promotion 
of her brother, was in those mean circumstances that Pas- 
quin represented her. As this pasquinade made a great 
noise in Rome, the pope offered a considerable sum of money 
to any person that should discover the author of it. The 
author relying upon his Holiness's generosity, as also on 
some private overtures which he had received from him, 
made the discovery himself ; upon which the pope gave him 
the reward he had promised, but at the same time, to disable 
the satirist for the future, ordered his tongue to be cut out, 
and both his hands to be chopped off. Aretine is too trite 
an instance. Every one knows that all the kings in Europe 
were his tributaries. Nay, there is a letter of his extant, 
in which he makes his boasts that he had laid the Sophy 
of Persia under contribution. 

Though, in the various examples which I have here drawn 
together, these several great men behaved themselves very 
differently towards the wits of the age who had reproached 
them, they all of them plainly showed that they were very 
sensible of their reproaches, and consequently that they 
received them as very great injuries. For my own part, I 
would never trust a man that I thought was capable of giv- 
ing these secret wounds ; and cannot but think that he would 



196 Select Essays of Addison. 

hurt the person, whose reputation he thus assaults, in his 
body or in his fortune, could he do it with the same security. 
There is indeed something very barbarous and inhuman in 
the ordinary scribblers of lampoons. An innocent young 
lady shall be exposed, for an unhappy feature ; a father of 
a family turned to ridicule, for some domestic calamity ; a 
wife be made uneasy all her life, for a misinterpreted word 
or action ; nay, a good, a temperate, and a just man, shall 
be put out of countenance by the representation of those 
qualities that should do him honor. So pernicious a thing 
is wit when it is not tempered with virtue and humanity. 

I have indeed heard of heedless, inconsiderate writers, 
that without any malice have sacrificed the reputation of 
their friends and acquaintance, to a certain levity of temper, 
and a silly ambition of distinguishing themselves by a spirit 
of raillery and satire : as if it were not infinitely more 
honorable to be a good-natured man, than a wit. Where 
there is this little petulant humor in an author, he is often 
very mischievous without designing to be so. For which 
reason I always lay it down as a rule, that an indiscreet 
man is more hurtful than an ill-natured one; for as the 
latter will only attack his enemies, and those he wishes ill 
to; the other injures indifferently both friends and foes. I 
cannot forbear, on this occasion, transcribing a fable out of 
Sir Roger L'Estrange, which accidentally lies before me. 
<■ A company of waggish boys were watching of frogs at the 
side of a pond, and still as any of them put up their heads, 
they'd be pelting them down again with stones. Children, 
says one of the frogs, you never consider, that though this 
may be play to you, it is death to us.' As this week is in 
a manner set apart and dedicated to serious thoughts, I shall 
indulge myself in such speculations as may not be altogether 
unsuitable to the season ; and in the mean time, as the set- 
ling in ourselves a charitable frame of mind is a work very 
proper for the time, I have in this paper endeavored to 



Religion should he Cheerful. 197 

expose that particular breach of charity which has been 
generally overlooked by divines^ because they are but few 
who can be guilty of it. 



Spectator No. 494. A cheerful piety recommended. 

About an age ago it was the fashion in England, for every 
one that would be thought religious, to throw as much sanc- 
tity as possible into his face, and in particular to abstain 
from all appearances of mirth and pleasantry, which were 
looked upon as the marks of a carnal mind. The saint was 
of a sorrowful countenance, and generally eaten up with 
spleen and melancholy. A gentleman, who was lately a 
great ornament to the learned world, has diverted me more 
than once with an account of the reception which he met 
with from a very famous Independent minister, who was 
head of a college in those times. This gentleman was then 
a young adventurer in the republic of letters, and just fitted 
out for the university with a -good cargo of Latin and Greek. 
His friends were resolved that he should try his fortune at 
an election which was drawing near in the college, of which 
the Independent minister whom I have before mentioned 
was governor. The youth, according to custom, waited on 
him in order to be examined. He was received at the door 
by a servant, who was one of that gloomy generation that 
were then in fashion. He conducted him, with great silence 
and seriousness, to a long gallery which was darkened at 
noon-day, and had only a single candle burning in it. After 
a short stay in this melancholy apartment, he was led into 
a chamber hung with black, where he entertained himself 
for some time by the glimmering of a taper, till at length 
the head of the college came out to him from an inner room, 
with half a dozen nightcaps upon his head, and religious 
horror in his countenance. The young man trembled ; but 



198 Select Essays of Addison. 

his fears increased, when, instead of being asked what prog- 
ress he had made in learning, he was examined how he 
abounded in grace. His Latin and Greek stood him in little 
stead ; he was to give an account only of the state of his 
soul; whether he was of the number of the elect; what was 
the occasion of his conversion ; upon what day of the month 
and hour of the day it happened; how it was carried on, 
and when completed. The whole examination was summed 
up with one short question, namely. Whether he was pre- 
pared for death ? The boy, who had been bred up by hon- 
est parents, was frighted out of his wits at the solemnity of 
the proceeding, and by the last dreadful interrogatory ; so 
that, upon making his escape out of the house of mourning, 
he could never be- brought a second time to the examination, 
as not being able to go through the terrors of it. 

Notwithstanding this general form and outside of religion 
is pretty well worn out among us, there are many persons, 
who, by a natural uncheerfulness of heart, mistaken notions 
of piety, or weakness of understanding, love to indulge this 
uncomfortable way of life, and give up themselves a prey 
to grief and melancholy. Superstitious fears and ground- 
less scruples cut them off from the pleasures of conversa- 
tion, and all those social entertainments which are not only 
innocent, but laudable : as if mirth was made for reprobates, 
and cheerfulness of heart denied those who are the only 
persons that have a proper title to it. 

Sombrius is one of these sons of sorrow. He thinks him- 
self obliged in duty to be sad and disconsolate. He looks 
on a sudden fit of laughter as a breach of his baptismal vow. 
An innocent jest startles him like blasphemy. Tell him of 
one who is advanced to a title of honor, he lifts up his hands 
and eyes : describe a public ceremony, he shakes his head : 
show him a gay equipage, he blesses himself. All the little 
ornaments of life are pomps and vanities. Mirth is wanton, 
and wit profane. He is scandalized at youth for being lively, 



Religion should he Cheerful. 199 

and at childhood for being playful. He sits at a christen- 
iugj or a marriage feast, as at a funeral ; sighs at the con- 
clusion of a merry story, and grows devout when the rest 
of the company grow pleasant. After all, Sombrius is a 
religious man, and would have behaved himself very prop- 
erly, had he lived when Christianity was under a general 
persecution. 

I would by no means presume to tax such characters with 
hypocrisy, as is done too frequently ; that being a vice 
which I think none but he, who knows the secrets of men's 
hearts, should pretend to discover in another, where the 
proofs of it do not amount to a demonstration. On the con- 
trary, as there are many excellent persons who are weighed 
down by this habitual sorrow of heart, they rather deserve 
our compassion than our reproaches. I think, however, 
they would do well to consider whether such a behavior 
does not deter men from a religious life, by representing it 
as an unsociable state, that extinguishes all joy and glad- 
ness, darkens the face of nature, and destroys the relish of 
being itself. 

I have, in former papers, shown hoAv great a tendency there 
is to cheerfulness in religion, and how such a frame of mind 
is not only the most lovely, but the most commendable in a 
virtuous person. In short, those who represent religion in 
so unamiable a light, are like the spies sent by Moses to 
make a discovery of the land of Promise, when by their 
reports they discouraged the .people from entering upon it. 
Those who show us the joy, the cheerfulness, the good- 
humor, that naturally spring up in this happy state, are like 
the spies bringing along with them the clusters of grapes 
and delicious fruits, that might invite their companions into 
the pleasant country which produced them. 

An eminent Pagan writer has made a discourse, to show 
that the atheist, who denies a God, does him less dishonor 
than the man who owns his being, but at the same time 



200 Select Essays of Addison. 

believes him to be cruel, hard to please, and terrible to 
human nature. For my own part, says he, I would rather 
it should be said of me, that there never was any such man 
as Plutarch, than that Plutarch was ill-natured, capricious, 
or inhuman. 

If we may believe our logicians, man is distinguished 
from all other creatures by the faculty of laughter. He has 
a heart capable of mirth, and naturally disposed to it. It 
is not the business of virtue to extirpate the affections of 
the mind, but to regulate them. It may moderate and 
restrain, but was not designed to banish gladness from the 
heart of man. Peligion contracts the circle of our pleasures, 
but leaves it wide enough for her votaries to expatiate in. 
The contemplation of the divine Being, and the exercise of 
virtue, are in their own nature so far from excluding all 
gladness of heart, that they are perpetual sources of it. In 
a word, the true spirit of religion cheers as well as composes 
the soul ; it banishes indeed all levity of behavior, all vicious 
and dissolute mirth, but in exchange fills the mind with a 
perpetual serenity, uninterrupted cheerfulness, and an habit- 
ual inclination to please others, as well as to be pleased in 
itself. 



Spectator No. 558. The folly of discontent with one's own lot. 

It is a celebrated thought of Socrates, that if all the mis- 
fortunes of mankind were cast into a public stock, in order 
to be equally distributed among the whole species, those 
who now think themselves the most unhappy, would prefer 
the share they are already possessed of before that which 
would fall to them by such a division. Horace has carried 
this thought a great deal farther in his first satire, which 
implies that the hardships and misfortunes we lie under 
are more easy to us than those of any other person would, 
be, in case we could change conditions with him. 



The Folly of Discontent. 201 

As I was ruminatiiig on these two remarks, and seated 
in my elbow chair, I insensibly fell asleep ; when, on a sud- 
den, methought there was a proclamation made by Jupiter, 
that every mortal should bring in his griefs and calamities, 
and throw them together in a heap. There was a large plain 
appointed for this purpose. I took my stand in the centre 
of it, and saw with a great deal of pleasure the whole human 
species marching one after another, and throwing down 
their several loads, which immediately grew up into a pro- 
digious mountain, that seemed to rise above the clouds. 

There was a certain lady of a thin airy shape, who was 
very active in this solemnity. She carried a magnifying 
glass in one of her hands, and was clothed in a loose flow- 
ing robe, embroidered with several figures of fiends and 
spectres, that discovered themselves in a thousand chimer- 
ical shapes as her garment hovered in the wind. There 
was something wild and distracted in her looks. Her name 
was Fancy. She led up every mortal to the appointed place, 
after having officiously assisted him in making up his pack, 
and laying it upon his shoulders. My heart melted within 
me to see my fellow-creatures groaning under their respec- 
tive burdens, and to consider that prodigious bulk of human 
calamities which lay before me. 

There were, however, several persons who gave me great 
diversion upon this occasion. I observed one bringing in a 
fardel very carefully concealed under an old embroidered 
cloak, which, upon his throwing it into the heap, I discov- 
ered to be Poverty. Another, after a great deal of puffing, 
threw down his luggage, which, upon examining, I found 
to be his wife. 

There were multitudes of lovers saddled with very whim- 
sical burdens, composed of darts and flames ; but what was 
very odd, though they sighed as if their hearts would 
break under these calamities, they could not persuade them- 
selves to cast them into the heap when they came up to it ; 



202 Select Essays of Addison. 

but after a few faint efforts, shook their heads and marched 
away, as heavy loaden as they came. I saw multitudes of 
old women throw down their wrinkles, and several young 
ones who stripped themselves of a tawny skin. There were 
very great heaps of red noses, large lips, and rusty teeth. 
The truth of it is, I was surprised to see the greatest part 
of the mountain made up of bodily deformities. Observing 
one advancing toward the heap with a larger cargo than 
ordinary upon his back, I found upon his near approach 
that it was only a natural hump, which he disposed of with 
great joy of heart among this collection of human miseries. 
There were likewise distempers of all sorts ; though I could 
not but observe that there w^ere many more imaginary than 
real. One little packet I could not but take notice of, which 
was a complication of all the diseases incident to human 
nature, and was in the hand of a great many fine people ; 
this was called the Spleen. But what most of all surprised 
me, was a remark I made, that there was not a single vice 
or folly thrown into the whole heap ; at which I was very 
much astonished, having concluded within myself, that 
every one would take this opportunity of getting rid of his 
passions, prejudices, and frailties. 

I took notice in particular of a very profligate fellow, who 
I did not question came loaden with his crimes ; but upon 
searching into his bundle I found that instead of throwing 
his guilt from him, he had only laid down his memory. He 
was followed by another worthless rogue, who flung away 
his modesty instead of his ignorance. 

When the whole race of mankind had thus cast their 
burdens, the phantom which had been so busy on this 
occasion, seeing me an idle Spectator of what had passed, 
approached towards me. I grew uneasy at her presence, 
when all of a sudden she held her magnifying glass before 
my eyes. I no sooner saw my face in it, but I was startled 
at the shortness of it, which now appeared to me in its 



The Folly of Discontent. 203 

utmost aggravation. The immoderate breadth of the fea- 
tures made me very much out of humor with my own coun- 
tenance, upon which I threw it from me like a mask. It 
happened very luckily that one who stood by me had just 
before thrown down his visage, which it seems was too long 
for him. It was indeed extended to a most shameful length ; 
I believe the very chin was, modestly speaking, as long as 
my whole face. We had both of us an opportunity of mend- 
ing ourselves; and all the contributions being now brought 
in, every man was at liberty to exchange his misfortunes 
with those of another person. But as there arose many new 
incidents in the sequel of my vision, I shall reserve them 
for the subject of my next paper. 



Spectator No. 559. The same subject continued. 

In my last paper I gave my reader a sight of that moun- 
tain of miseries which was made up of those several calami- 
ties that afflict the minds of men. I saw with unspeakable 
pleasure the whole species thus delivered from its sorrows ; 
though at the same time, as we stood round the heap, and 
surveyed the several materials of which it was composed, 
there was scarcely a mortal in this vast multitude who did 
not discover what he thought pleasures and blessings of life, 
and wondered how the owners of them ever came to look 
upon them as burdens and grievances. 

As we were regarding very attentively this confusion of 
miseries, this chaos of calamity, Jupiter issued out a second 
proclamation, that every one was now at liberty to exchange 
his affliction, and to return to his habitation with any such 
other bundle as should be delivered to him. 

Upon this Fancy began agjiin to bestir herself, and par- 
celling out the whole heap with incredible activity, recom- 
mended to every one his particular packet. The hurry and 



204 Select Essays of Addison. 

confusion at this time was not to be expressed. Some obser- 
vations which I made upon the occasion I shall communicate 
to the public. A venerable, gray -headed man, who had laid 
down the colic, and who I found wanted an heir to his estate, 
snatched up an undutiful son that had been thrown into the 
heap by an angiy father. The graceless youth, in less than 
a quarter of an hour, pulled the old gentleman by the beard, 
and had like to have knocked his brains out ; so that meet- 
ing the true father, who came towards him with a lit of the 
gripes, he begged him to take his son again, and give him 
back his colic ; but they were incapable either of them to 
recede from the choice they had made. A poor galley slave, 
who had thrown down his chains, took up the gout in their 
stead, but made such wry faces, that one might easily per- 
ceive he was no great gainer by the bargain. It was pleas- 
ant enough to see the several exchanges that were made, 
for sickness against poverty, hunger against want of appe- 
tite, and care against pain. 

The female world were very busy among themselves in 
bartering for features ; one was trucking a lock of gray 
hairs for a carbuncle : another w^as making over a short 
waist for a pair of round shoulders, and a third cheapening 
a bad face for a lost reputation : but on all these occasions 
there was not one of them who did not think the new blem- 
ish, as soon as she had got it into her possession, much 
more disagreeable than the old one. I made the same 
observation on every other misfortune or calamity which 
every one in the assembl}^ brought upon himself in lieu of 
what he had parted with ; whether it be that all the evils 
which befall us are in some measure suited and propor- 
tioned to our strength, or that every evil becomes more 
supportable by our being accustomed to it, I shall not de- 
termine. 

I could not from my heart forbear pitying the poor hump- 
backed gentleman mentioned in the former paper, who 



The Folly of Discontent, 205 

went off a very well-shaped person with a stone in his 
bladder ; nor the fine gentleman who had struck up this 
bargain with him, that limped through a whole assembly of 
ladies, who used to admire him, with a pair of shoulders 
peeping over his head. 

I must not omit my own particular adventure. My friend 
with the long visage had no sooner taken upon him my 
short face but he made such a grotesque figure in it, that as 
I looked upon him I could not forbear laughing at myself, 
insomuch that I put my own face out of countenance. The 
poor gentleman was so sensible of the ridicule, that I found 
he was ashamed of what he had done ; on the other hand, 
I found that I myself had no great reason to triumph ; for 
as I went to touch my forehead, I missed the place, and 
clapped my finger upon my upper lip. Besides, as my nose 
was exceeding prominent, I gave it two or three unlucky 
knocks as I was playing my hand about my face, and aiming 
at some other part of it. I saw two other gentlemen by me 
who were in the same ridiculous circumstances. These had 
made a foolish swap between a couple of thick bandy legs 
and two long trapsticks that had no calves to them. One 
of these looked like a man walking upon stilts, and was so 
lifted up into the air, above his ordinary height, that his 
head turned round with it; while the other made such 
awkward circles as he attempted to walk, that he scarcely 
knew how to move forward upon his new supporters. Ob- 
serving him to bo a pleasant kind of fellow, I stuck my 
cane in the ground, and told him I would lay him a bottle 
of wine, that he did not march up to it on a line that I 
drew for him in a quarter of an hour. 

The heap was at last distributed among the two sexes, 
who made a most piteous sight, as they wandered up and 
down under the jjressure of their several burdens. The 
whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, groans 
and lamentations. Jupiter, at length, taking compassion 



206 Select Essays of Addison, 

on the poor mortals, ordered tliem a second time to lay 
down their loads, with a design to give every one his own 
again. They discharged themselves with a great deal of 
pleasure; after which, the phantom which had led them 
into such gross delusions, was commanded to disappear. 
There was sent in her stead a goddess of quite a different 
figure ; her motions were steady and composed, her aspect 
serious but cheerful. She every now and then cast her eyes 
toward heaven, and fixed them upon Jupiter ; her name was 
Patience. She had no sooner placed herself by the Mount 
of Sorrows, but, what T thought very remarkable, the whole 
heap sunk to such a degree, that it did not appear a third 
part so big as it was before. She afterwards returned every 
man his own proper calamity, and, teaching him how to bear 
it in the most commodious manner, he marched off with it 
contentedly, being very well pleased that he had not been 
left to his own choice as to the kind of evil which fell to 
his lot. 

Besides the several pieces of morality to be drawn out 
of this vision, I learned from it never to repine at my own 
misfortunes, or to envy the happiness of another, since it is 
impossible for any man to form a right judgment of his 
neighbor's sufferings ; for which reason also, I have deter- 
mined never to think too lightly of another's complaints, 
but to regard the sorrows of my fellow-creatures with sen- 
timents of humanity and compassion. 



Tatler No. 96. The Tatler explains whom he means by the expres- 
sion " dead men." 

It has cost me very much care and thought to marshal 
and fix the people under their proper denominations, and to 
range them according to their respective characters. These 
•jHy. endeavors have been received with une2;pected. success 



''Dead Menr 207 

in one kind, but neglected in another : for though I have 
many readers, I have but few converts. This must cer- 
tainly proceed from a false opinion, that what I write is 
designed rather to amuse and entertain, than convince and 
instruct. I entered upon my Essays with a declaration that 
I should consider mankind in quite another manner than 
they had hitherto been represented to the ordinary world ; 
and asserted, that none but an useful life should be, with 
me, any life at all. But, lest this doctrine should have 
made this small progress towards the conviction of man- 
kind, because it may have appeared to the unlearned light 
and whimsical, I must take leave to unfold the wisdom and 
antiquity of my first proposition in these my Essays, to wit, 
that " every worthless man is a dead man." This notion 
is as old as Pythagoras, in whose school it was a point of _ /' 
discipline, that if among the " probationers," there were any 
who grew weary of studying to be useful, and returned to 
an idle life, they were to regard them as dead ; and, upon 
their departing, to perform their obsequies, and raise them 
tombs, with inscriptions to warn others of the like mortal- 
ity, and quicken them to resolutions of refining their souls 
above that wretched state. It is upon a like supposition, 
that young ladies, at this very time, in Eoman Catholic 
countries, are received into some nunneries with their cofiins, 
and with the pomp of a formal funeral, to signify, that 
henceforth they are to be of no farther use, and conse- 
quently dead. Nor was Pythagoras himself the first author 
of this symbol, with whom, and with the Hebrews, it was 
generally received. Much more might be offered in illus- 
tration of this doctrine from sacred authority, which I 
recommend to my reader's own reflection ; who will easily 
recollect, from places which I do not think fit to quote here, 
the forcible manner of applying the words dead and living, 
to men as they are good or bad. 

I have, therefore, composed the following scheme of exist- 



208 Select Essays of Addison. 

ence for the benefit both of the living and the dead ; though 
chiefly for the latter, whom I must desire to read it with all 
possible attention. In the number of the dead I comprehend 
all persons, of what title or dignity soever, who bestow most 
of their time in eating and drinking, to support that imagi- 
nary existence of theirs, which they call life ; or in dressing 
and adorning those shadows and apparitions, which are 
looked upon by the vulgar as real men and women. In 
short, whoever resides in the world without having any 
business in it, and passes away an age without ever think- 
ing on the errand for which he was sent hither, is to me a 
dead man to all intents and purposes ; and I desire that he 
may be so reputed. The living are only those that are 
some way or other laudably employed in the improvement 
of their own minds, or for the advantage of others; and 
even amongst these, I shall only reckon into their lives that 
part of their time which has been spent in the manner above 
mentioned. By these means, I am afraid, we shall find the 
longest lives not to consist of many months, and the great- 
est part of the earth to be quite unpeopled. According to 
this system we may observe, that some men are born at 
twenty years of age, some at thirty, some at threescore, and 
some not above an hour before they die: nay, we may 
observe multitudes that die without ever being born, as well 
as many dead persons that fill up the bulk of mankind, and 
make a better figure in the eyes of the ignorant, than those 
who are alive, and in their proper and full state of health. 
However, since there may be many good subjects, that pay 
their taxes, and live peaceably in their habitations, who are 
not yet born, or have departed this life several years since, 
ray design is, to encourage both to join themselves as soon 
as possible to the number of the living. 



''Dead Menr 209 

Tatler No. 97. The same subject continued. 

Having swept away prodigious multitudes in my last 
paper, and brought a great destruction upon my own species, 
I must endeavor in this to raise fresh recruits, and, if pos- 
sible, to supply the places of the unborn and the deceased. 
It is said of Xerxes, that when he stood upon a hill, and 
saw the whole country round him covered with his army, 
he burst out into tears, to think that not one of that multi- 
tude would be alive an hundred years after. Eor my part, 
when I take a survey of this populous city, I can scarce 
forbear weeping, to see how few of its inhabitants are now 
living. It was with this thought that I drew up my last 
bill of mortality, and endeavored to set out in it the great 
number of persons who have perished by a distemper, com- 
monly known by the name of idleness, which has long raged 
in the world, and destroys more in every great town than 
the plague has done at Dantzic. To repair the mischief 
it has done, and stock the world with a better race of 
mortals, I have more hopes of bringing to life those that 
are young, than of reviving those that are old. For which 
reason, I shall here set down that noble allegory which 
was written by an old author called Prodicus, but recom- 
mended and embellished by Socrates. It is the description 
of Virtue and Pleasure, making their court to Hercules 
under the appearance of two beautiful women. 

When Hercules, says the divine moralist, was in that 
part of his youth, in which it was natural for him to con- 
sider what course of life he ought to pursue, he one day 
retired into a desert, where the silence and solitude of 
the place very much favored his meditations. As he was 
musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed 
in himself on the state of life he should choose, he saw two 
women of a larger stature than ordinary approaching towards 
him. One of them had a very noble air, and graceful deport- 



210 Select Essays of Addison, 

ment ; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and 
unspotted, her eyes cast towards the ground with an agree- 
able reserve, her motion and behavior full of modesty, and 
her raiment as white as snow. The other had a great 
deal of health and floridness in her countenance, which she 
had helped with an artificial white and red ; and endeavored 
to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a 
mixture of affectation in all her gestures. She had a won- 
derful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the 
variety of colors in her dress that she thought were most 
proper to show her complexion to an advantage. She cast 
her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that 
were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked 
on the figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her 
nearer approach to Hercules, she stepped before the other 
lady, who came forward with a regular composed carriage, 
and running up to him, accosted him after the following 
manner : 

"My dear Hercules," says she, "I find you are very 
much divided in your own thoughts, upon the way of life 
that you ought to choose. Be my friend, and follow me ; 
I will lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out of 
the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and 
disquietude of business. The affairs of either war or peace 
shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole employ- 
ment shall be, to make your life easy, and to entertain 
every sense with its proper gratification. Sumptuous 
tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music, 
crowds of beauties, are all in readiness to receive you. 
Come along with me into this region of delights, this world 
of pleasure, and bid farewell for ever to care, to pain, to 
business." 

Hercules, hearing the lady talk after this manner, desired 
to know her name ; to which she answered, " My friends, 
and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Hap- 



''Bead Menr 211 

piness ; but my enemies, and those who would injure my 
reputation, have given me the name of Pleasure." 

By this time the other lady was come up, who addressed 
herself to the young hero in a very different manner. 

" Hercules,'' says she, '' I offer myself to you, because I 
know you are descended from the Gods, and give proofs of 
that descent by your love to virtue, and application to the 
studies proper for your age. This makes me hope you 
will gain both for yourself and me an immortal reputation. 
But, before I invite you into my society and friendship, I 
will be open and sincere with you, and must lay down this 
as an established truth. That there is nothing truly valuable^ 
ivhich can be purchased ivithout pains and labor. The Gods 
have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If 
you would gain the favor of the Deity, you must be at the 
pains of worshipping him ; if the friendship of good men, 
you must study to oblige them ; if you would be honored 
by your country, you must take care to serve it. In short, 
if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become 
master of all the qualifications that can make you so. 
These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can 
propose happiness." The Goddess of Pleasure here broke 
in upon her discourse. ^' You see," said she, ^^ Hercules, by 
her own confession, the way to her pleasure is long and 
difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy." 
— " Alas ! " said the other lady, whose visage glowed with 
a passion made up of scorn and pity, "what are the pleas- 
ures you propose ? To eat before you are hungry, drink 
before you are a-thirst, sleep before you are a-tired, to 
gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such 
appetites as nature never planted. You never heard the 
most delicious music, which is the praise of one's self; 
nor saw the most beautiful object, which is the work of 
one's own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth^ in 
a dream of mistaken pleasures, while they are hoarding 
up anguish, torment, and remorse for old age. 



212 Select Essays of Addison, 

"As for me, I am the friend of the Gods aud of good 
men, an agreeable companion to the artizan, an household 
guardian to the fathers of families, a patron and protector 
of servants, an associate in all true and generous friend- 
ships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but 
always delicious ; for none eat or drink at them who are 
not invited by hunger and thirst. Their slumbers are 
sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have 
the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who 
are in years ; and those who are in years, of being honored 
by those who are young. In a word, my followers are fav- 
ored by the Gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed 
by their country, and, after the close of their labors, honored 
by posterity." 

We know by the life of this memorable hero, to which of 
these two ladies he gave up his heart ; and I believe, every 
one who reads this will do him the justice to approve his 
choice. 

I very much admire the speeches of these ladies, as con- 
taining in them the chief arguments for a life of virtue, or 
a life of pleasure, that could enter into the thoughts of an 
heathen ; but am particularly pleased with the different 
figures he gives the two Goddesses. Our modern authors 
have represented Pleasure or Vice with an alluring face, 
but ending in snakes and monsters. Here she appears in 
all the charms of beauty, though they are all false and 
borrowed; and by that means composes a vision entirely 
natural and pleasing. 

I have translated this allegory for the benefit of the 
youth of Great Britain ; and particularly of those who are 
still in the deplorable state of non-existence, and whom I 
most earnestly entreat to come into the world. Let my 
embryos show the least inclination to any single virtue, and 
I shall allow it to be a struggling towards birth. I do not 
expect of them that, like the hero in the foregoing story, 



On Immortality. 213 

they should go about as soon as they are born, with a club 
in their hands, and a lion's skin on their shoulders, to root 
out monsters, and destroy tyrants ; but, as the finest author 
of all antiquity has said upon this very occasion, though a 
man has not the abilities to distinguish himself in the most 
shining parts of a great character, he has certainly the 
capacity of being just, faithful, modest, and temperate. 



Spectator No. Iii. On immortality. 

The course of my last speculation led me insensibly into 
a subject upon which I always meditate with great delight, 
I mean the immortality of the soul. I was yesterday 
walking alone in one of my friend's woods, and lost myself 
in it very agreeably, as I was running over in my mind the 
several arguments that establish this great point, which 
is the basis of morality, and the source of all the pleasing 
hopes and secret joys that can arise in the heart of a rea- 
sonable creature. I considered those several proofs, drawn : 

First, From the nature of the soul itself, and particularly 
its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely necessary 
to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been evinced 
to almost a demonstration. 

Secondly, From its passions and sentiments, as particu- 
larly from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, 
and its hopes of immortality, with that sweet satisfaction 
which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasiness 
which follows in it upon the commission of vice. 

Thirdly, From the nature of the Supreme Being, whose 
justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned 
in this point. 

But among these and other excellent arguments for the 
immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the per- 
petual progress of the soul to its perfection, without a pos- 



214 Select Essays of Addison. 

sibility of ever arriving at it; which is a hint that I do 
not remember to have seen opened and improved by others 
who have written on this subject, though it seems to me to 
carry a great weight with it. How can it enter into the 
thoughts of man, that the soul, which is capable of such 
immense perfections, and of receiving new improvements to 
all eternity, shall fall away into nothing almost as soon as 
it is created ? Are such abilities made for no purpose ? A 
brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pass : 
in a few years he has all the endowments he is capable of ; 
and were he to live ten thousand more, would be the same 
thing he is at present. Were a human soul thus at a stand 
in her accomplishments, were her faculties to be full blown, 
and incapable of farther enlargements, I could imagine it 
might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of 
annihilation. But can we believe a thinking being that is 
in a perpetual progress of improvements, and travelling on 
from perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad 
into the works of its Creator, and made a few discoveries 
of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish 
at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her 
inquiries ? 

A man, considered in his present state, seems only sent 
into the world to propagate his kind. He provides him- 
self with a successor, and immediately quits his post to 
make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy life, 
but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to 
consider in animals, which are formed for our use, and can 
finish their business in a short life. The silk-worm, after 
having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man 
can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has 
not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in vir- 
tue, and come up to the perfection of his nature, before he 
is hurried off the stage. Would an infinitely wise being 
make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose ? Can 



On Immortality, 215 

he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, 
such short-lived reasonable beings ? Would he give us tal- 
ents that are not to be exerted ; capacities that are never to 
be gratified ? How can we find that wisdom which shines 
through all his works, in the formation of man, without 
looking on this world as only a nursery for the next, and 
believing that the several generations of rational creatures, 
which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, are 
only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and 
afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly climate, 
where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ? 

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and trium- 
phant consideration in religion than this, of the perpetual 
progress which the soul makes towards the perfection of 
its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look 
upon the soul as going on from strength to strength, to con- 
sider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of 
glory, and brighten to all eternity; that she will be still 
adding virtue to virtue and knowledge to knowledge ; car- 
ries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition 
which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be a 
prospect pleasing to God himself to see his creation ever 
beautifying in his eyes and drawing nearer to him by greater 
degrees of resemblance. 

Methinks this single consideration of the progress of a 
finite spirit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish all 
envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. 

That cherubim, which now appears as a god to a human 
soul, knows very well that the period will come about in 
eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he 
himself now is : nay, when she shall look down upon that 
degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. 
It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that 
means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale 
of being ; but he knows that, how high soever the station is 



216 Select Essays of Addison. 

of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature 
will at length mount up to it, and shine forth in the same 
degree of glory. 

With what astonishment and veneration may we look 
into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of 
virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted forces of perfec- 
tion ! We know not yet what we shall be, nor will it ever 
enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will" 
be always in reserve for him. The soul, considered with 
its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines that may 
draw nearer to another for all eternity without the possibil- 
ity of touching it : and can there be a thought so transport- 
ing, as to consider ourselves in these perpetual approaches 
to him who is not only the standard of perfection but of 
happiness ? 



Spectator No. 565. Contemplation of the divine perfections sug- 
gested hy the sky at night. 

I was yesterday about sun-set walking in the open fields, 
till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first amused 
myself with all the richness and variety of colors, which 
appeared in the western parts of heaven : in proportion as 
they faded away and w^ent out, several stars and planets 
appeared one after another, till the whole firmament was 
in a glow. The blueness of the ether was exceedingly 
heightened and enlivened by the season of the year, and 
by the rays of all those luminaries that passed through it. 
The galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To com- 
plete the scene, the full moon rose at length in that clouded 
majesty which Milton takes notice of, and opened to the 
eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, 
and disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun 
had before discovered to us. 

As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness. 



The Divine Perfections. 217 

and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought 
rose in me which I believe very often perplexes and disturbs 
men of serious and contemplative natures. David himself 
fell into it in that reflection, " When I consider the heavens, 
the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou 
hast ordained ; what is man, that thou art mindful of him, 
and the son of man that thou regardest him ? " In the same 
manner, when I considered that infinite host of stars, or, to 
speak more philosophically, of suns, which were then shining 
upon me, with those innumerable sets of planets or worlds, 
which were moving round their respective suns ; when I 
still enlarged the idea, and supposed another heaven of 
suns and worlds rising still above this which we discovered, 
and these still enlightened by a superior firmament of lumi- 
naries, which are planted at so great a distance that they 
may appear to the inhabitants of the former as the stars to 
us ; in short, whilst I pursued this thought, I could not but 
reflect on that little insignificant figure which I myself bore 
amidst the immensity of God's works. 

Were the sun, which enlightens this part of the creation, 
with all the host of planetary worlds that move about him, 
utterly extinguished and annihilated, they would not be 
missed, more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. The 
space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison of 
the whole, that it would scarce make a blank in the crea- 
tion. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye, that 
could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass from 
one end of the creation to the other ; as it is possible there 
may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in creatures 
which are at present more exalted than ourselves. We see 
many stars by the help of glasses, which we do not discover 
with our naked eyes ; and the finer our telescopes are, the 
more still are our discoveries. Huygenius carries this 
thought so far, that he does not think it impossible there 
may be stars whose light is not yet travelled down to us, 



218 Select Essays of Addison. 

since their first creation. There is no question but the 
universe has certain bounds set to it ; but when we consider 
that it is the work of infinite power, prompted by infinite 
goodness, with an infinite space to exert itself in, how can 
our imagination set any bounds to it ? 

To return therefore to my first thought, I could not but 
look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that was not 
worth the smallest regard of one who had so great a work 
under his care and superintendency. I was afraid of being 
overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, and lost among 
that infinite variety of creatures, which in all probability 
swarm through all these immeasurable regions of matter. 

In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, 
I considered that it took its rise from those narrow concep- 
tions, which we are apt to entertain of the divine nature. 
We ourselves cannot attend to many different objects at 
the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, 
we must of course neglect others. This imperfection which 
we observe in ourselves, is an imperfection that cleaves in 
some degree to creatures of the highest capacities, as they 
are creatures, that is, beings of finite and limited natures. 
The presence of every created being is confined to a certain 
measure of space, and consequently his observation is stinted 
to a certain number of objects. The sphere in which we 
move and act and understand, is of a wider circumference to 
one creature than another, according as we rise one above 
another in the scale of existence. But the widest of these 
our spheres has its circumference. When therefore we 
reflect on the divine nature, we are so used and accustomed 
to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot forbear iu 
some measure ascribing it to him in whom there is no 
shadow of imperfection. Our reason indeed assures us 
that his attributes are infinite, but the poorness of our con- 
ceptions is such that it cannot forbear setting bounds to 
every thing it contemplates, till our reason comes again to 



The Divine Perfections, 219 

our succor, and throws down all those little prejudices which 
rise in us unawares, and are natural to the mind of man. 

If we consider Him in his omnipresence : His being passes 
through, actuates, and supports the whole frame of nature. 
His creation, and every part of it, is full of him. There is 
nothing he has made, that is either so distant, so little, or 
so inconsiderable, which he does not essentially inhabit. 
His substance is within the substance of every being, whether 
material or immaterial, and as intimately present to it, as 
that being is to itself. It would be an imperfection in 
him, were he able to remove out of one place into another, 
or to withdraw himself from anything he has created, or 
from any part of that space which is diffused and spread 
abroad to infinity. In short, to speak of him in tlie language 
of the old philosopher, he is a being whose centre is every 
where, and his circumference no where. 

In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omni- 
present. His omniscience indeed necessarily and naturally 
flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious 
of every motion that arises in the whole material world, 
which he thus essentially pervades ; and of every thought 
that is stirring in the intellectual world, to every part of 
which he is thus intimately united. Several moralists have 
considered the creation as the temple of God, which he 
has built with his own hands, and which is filled with his 
presence. Others have considered infinite space as the re- 
ceptacle or rather the habitation of the Almighty : but the 
noblest and most exalted way of considering this infinite 
space is that of Sir Isaac Newton, who calls it the sensorium 
of the Godhead. Brutes and men have their sensoriola, or 
little sensoriums, by which they apprehend the presence, 
and perceive the actions, of a few objects that lie contiguous 
to them. Their knowledge and observation turn within a 
very narrow circle. But as God Almighty cannot but per- 
ceive and know every thing in which he resides, infinite 



220 Select Essays of Addison. 

space gives room to infinite knowledge, and is, as it were, 
an organ to omniscience. 

Were the soul separate from the body, and with one 
glance of thought should start beyond the bounds of 
the creation, should it for millions of years continue its 
progress through infinite space with the same activity, it 
would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, and 
encompassed round with the immensity of the Godhead. 
Whilst we are in the body he is not less present with us 
because he is concealed from us. " that I knew where 
I might find him ! " says Job. " Behold, I go forward, but 
he is not there ; and backward, but I cannot perceive him : 
on the left hand where he does work, but I cannot behold 
him : he hideth himself on the right hand, that I cannot see 
him." In short, reason as well as revelation assures us, 
that he cannot be absent from us, notwithstanding he is 
undiscovered by us. 

In this consideration of God Almighty's omnipresence 
and omniscience every uncomfortable thought vanishes. 
He cannot but regard every thing that has being, especially 
such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by him. 
He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of 
of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on this 
occasion : for as it is impossible he should overlook any of 
his creatures, so we may be confident that he regards with an 
eye of mercy those who endeavor to recommend themselves 
to his notice, and in an unfeigned humility of heart think 
themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them. 



Spectator No. 441. Trust in God. 

# * * * ^ # 

David has very beautifully represented this steady reliance 
on God Almighty in his twenty-third psalm, which is a kind 



Hymns. 221 

of pastoral hymn, and filled with those allusions which are 
usual in that kind of writing. As the poetry is very exqui- 
site, I shall present the reader with the following translation 

of it : — 

The Lord my pasture shall prepare, 
And feed me with a shepherd's care : 
His presence shall my wants supply, 
And guard me with a watchful eye : 
My noon-day walks he shall attend, 
And all my midnight hours defend. 

When in the sultry glebe I faint, 
Or on the thirsty mountain pant, 
To fertile vales, and dewy meads, 
My weary wand'ring steps he leads ; 
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow 
Amid the verdant landscape flow. 

Though in the paths of death I tread, 
With gloomy horrors overspread, 
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, 
For thou, Lord, art with me still ; 
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, 
And guide me through the dreadful shade. 

Though in a bare and rugged way, 
Through devious lonely wilds I stray. 
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile : 
The barren wilderness shall smile, 
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd, 
And streams shall murmur all around. 



Spectator No. 453. Providence. 

I have already communicated to the public some pieces of 
divine poetry ; and, as they have met with a very favorable 
reception, I shall from time to time publish any work of the 



222 Select Essays of Addison. 

same nature, which has not yet appeared in print, and may 
be acceptable to my readers. 

When all thy mercies, my God, 

My rising soul surveys, 
Transported with the view, I'm lost 

In wonder, love, and praise, 

O how shall words with equal warmth 

The gratitude declare 
That glows within my ravish' d heart ? 

But thou canst read it there. 

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul 

Thy tender care bestow'd, 
Before my infant heart conceived 

From whom those comforts flow'd. 

When in the slippery paths of youth 

With heedless steps I ran, 
Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe, 

And led me up to man. 

Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, 

It gently clear'd my way, 
And through the pleasing snares of vice, 

More to be fear'd than they. 

When worn with sickness, oft hast thou 

AVith health renew' d my face, 
And when in sins and sorrows sunk, 

Revived my soul with grace. 

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss 

Has made my cup run o'er, 
And in a kind and faithful friend 

Has doubled all my store. 

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 

My daily thanks employ ; 
Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 

That tastes those gifts with joy. 



Hymns, 223 



Through every period of my life 

Thy goodness I'll pursue ; 
And after death in distant worlds 

The glorious theme renew. 

When nature fails, and day and night 
Divide thy works no more, 

My ever grateful heart, Lord, 
Thy mercy shall adore. 

Through all eternity to thee 

A joyful song I'll raise ; 
For, oh ! eternity's too short 

To utter all thy praise. 



Spectator No. 465. The confirmation of faith. 

The Supreme Being has made the best arguments for his 
own existence in the formation of the heavens and earth ; 
and these are arguments which a man of sense cannot for- 
bear attending to, who is out of the noise and hurry of 
human affairs. Aristotle says, that should a man live under 
ground, and there converse with works of art and mechan- 
ism, and should afterwards be brought up into the open 
day, and see the several glories of the heaven and earth, he 
would immediately pronounce them the works of such a 
being as we define God to be. The psalmist has very beau- 
tiful strokes of poetry to this purpose in that exalted strain, 
" The heavens declare the glory of God : and the firma- 
ment sheweth his handy-work. One day telleth another : 
and one night certifieth another. There is neither speech 
nor language : but their voices are heard among them. Their 
sound is gone out into all the lands : and their words unto 
the ends of the world." As such a bold and sublime man- 
ner of thinking furnished very noble matter for an ode, the 
reader may see it wrought into the following one : — 



224 Select Essays of Addison, 

The spacious firmament on high, 

With all the blue ethereal sky, 

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 

Their great original proclaim : 

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day, 

Does his Creator's power display, 

And publishes to every land 

The work of an almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale. 
And nightly to the listening earth 
Repeats the story of her birth : 
Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
And all the planets in their turn, 
Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 

What though, in solemn silence, all 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though nor real voice nor sound 
Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
And utter forth a glorious voice, 
For ever singing, as they shine, 
"The hand that made us is divine." 



Spectator No. 489. Thanksgiving after travel. 



How are thy servants blest, Lord ! 

How sure is their defence ! 
Eternal Wisdom is their guide, 

Their help Omnipotence. 

In foreign realms and lands remote, 

Supported by thy care. 
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt. 

And breathed in tainted air. 



Hymns. 225 



Thy mercy sweeten' d every soil, 

Made every region please : 
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, 

And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas. 

Think, O my soul, devoutly think, 

How, with affrighted eyes, 
Thou saw' St the wide extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart : 
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, 

O'ercame the pilot's art. 

Yet then from all my griefs, Lord, 

Thy mercy set me free. 
Whilst in the confidence of prayer 

My soul took hold on thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hung 

High on the broken wave, 
I knew thou wert not slow to hear, 

Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired. 

Obedient to thy will ; 
The sea that roar'd at thy command, 

At thy command was still. 

In midst of dangers, fears, and death. 

Thy goodness I'll adore, 
And praise thee for thy mercies past. 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life, if thou preserv'st my life, 

Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
And death, if death must be my doom, 

Shall join my soul to thee. 



226 Select Essays of Addison. 

Spectator No. 513. A thought in sickness. 



When, rising from the bed of death, 

O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear, 
I see my Maker, face to face, 
how sliall I appear ! 

If yet, while pardon may be found. 

And mercy may be sought, 
My heart with inward horror shrinks, 

And trembles at the thought ; 

When thou, Lord, shalt stand disclosed, 

In majesty severe. 
And sit in judgment on my soul, 

O how shall I appear ! 

But thou hast told the troubled mind, 

Who does her sins lament, 
The timely tribute of her tears 

Shall endless woe prevent. 

Then see the sorrows of my heart, 

Ere yet it be too late ; 
And hear my Saviour's dying groans. 

To give those sorrows weight. 

For never shall my soul despair 

Her pardon to procure. 
Who knows thine only Son has died 

To make her pardon sure. 



MACAULAY'S ESSAY 

ON THE 

LIFE AND WEITINGS OF ADDISON 

(July, 1843.) 



The Life of Joseph Addison. By Lucy Aikin. London : 1843. 

Some reviewers are of opinion that a lady who dares to 
publish a book renounces by that act the franchises apper- 
taining to her sex, and can claim no exemption from the 
utmost rigor of critical procedure. From that opinion we 
dissent. We admit, indeed, that in a country which boasts 
of many female writers, eminently qualified by their tal- 
ents and acquirements to influence the public mind, it 
would be of most pernicious consequence that inaccurate 
history or unsound philosophy should be suffered to pass 
uncensured, merely because the offender chanced to be a 
lady. But w^e conceive that, on such occasions, a critic 
would do well to imitate the courteous knight who found 
himself compelled by duty to keep the lists against Brada- 
mante. He, we are told, defended successfully the cause 
of which he was the champion ; but, before the fight began, 
exchanged Balisarda for a less deadly sword, of which he 
carefully blunted the point and edge.^ 

Nor are the immunities of sex the only immunities which 
Miss Aikin may rightfully plead. Several of her works, 

1 Orlando Furioso, xlv., 68. 

227 



228 Macaulay'% Essay on Addison. 

and especially the very pleasing Memoirs of the Reign of 
James the First, have fully entitled her to the privileges 
enjoyed by good writers. One of those privileges we hold 
to be this, that such writers, when, either from the un- 
lucky choice of a subject, or from the indolence too often 
produced by success, they happen to fail, shall not be sub- 
jected to the severe discipline which it is sometimes neces- 
sary to inflict upon dunces and impostors, but shall merely 
be reminded by a gentle touch, like that with which the 
Laputan flapper roused his dreaming lord, that it is high 
time to wake. 

Our readers will probably infer from what we have said 
that Miss Aikin's book has disappointed us. The truth is, 
that she is not well acquainted with her subject. No per- 
son who is not familiar with the political and literary his- 
tory of England during the reigns of William the Third, of 
Anne, and of George the First, can possibly write a good 
life of Addison. Now, we mean no reproach to Miss Aikin, 
and many will think that we pay her a compliment when 
we say that her studies have taken a different direction. 
She is better acquainted with Shakspeare and Kaleigh than 
with Congreve and Prior ; and is far more at home among 
the ruffs and peaked beards of Theobald's than among the 
Steenkirks and flowing periwigs which surrounded Queen. 
Anne's tea-table at Hampton. She seems to have written 
about the Elizabethan Age because she had read much 
about it ; she seems, on the other hand, to have read a lit- 
tle about the age of Addison because she had determined 
to w^rite about it. The consequence is that she has had to 
describe men and things without having either a correct 
or a vivid idea of them, and that she has often fallen into 
errors of a very serious kind. The reputation which Miss 
Aikin has justly earned stands so high, and the charm of 
Addison's letters is so great, that a second edition of this 
work may probably be required. If so, we hope that every 



Macaulay'% Essay on Addison. 229 

paragraph will be revised, and that every date and fact 
about which there can be the smallest doubt will be care- 
fully verified. 

To Addison himself we are bound by a sentiment as 
much like affection as any sentiment can be, which is in- 
spired by one who has been sleeping a hundred and twenty 
years in Westminster Abbey. We trust, however, that this 
feeling will not betray us into that abject idolatry which 
we have often had occasion to reprehend in others, and 
which seldom fails to make both the idolater and the idol 
ridiculous. A man of genius and virtue is but a man. All 
his powers cannot be equally developed, nor can we expect 
from him perfect self-knowledge. We need not, therefore, 
hesitate to admit that Addison has left us some composi- 
tions which do not rise above mediocrity, some heroic 
poems hardly equal to Parnell's, some criticism as superfi- 
cial as Dr. Blair's, and a tragedy not very much better than 
Dr. Johnson's. It is praise enough to say of a writer that, 
in a high department of literature, in which many eminent 
writers have distinguished themselves, he has had no equal; 
and this may with strict justice be said of Addison. 

As a man, he may not have deserved the adoration which 
he received from those who, bewitched by his fascinating 
society, and indebted for all the comforts of life to his gen- 
erous and delicate friendship, worshipped him nightly in 
his favorite temple at Button's. But, after full inquiry and 
impartial reflection, we have long been convinced that he 
deserved as much love and esteem as can be justly claimed 
by any of our infirm and erring race. Some blemishes may 
undoubtedly be detected in his character; but the more 
carefully it is examined, the more will it appear, to use the 
phrase of the old anatomists, sound in the noble parts, free 
from all taint of perfidy, of cowardice, of cruelty, of in- 
gratitude, of envy. Men may easily be named in whom 
some particular good disposition has been more conspicuous 



230 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

than in Addison. But the just harmony of qualities, the 
exact temper between the stern and the humane virtues, 
the habitual observance of every law, not only of moral 
rectitude, but of moral grace and dignity, distinguish him 
from all men who have been tried by equally strong temp- 
tations, and about whose conduct we possess equally full 
information. 

His father was the Reverend Lancelot Addison, who, 
though eclipsed by his more celebrated son, made some 
figure in the world, and occupies with credit two folio 
pages in the Biographia Britannica. He rose to eminence 
in his profession and became one of the royal chaplains, a 
Doctor of Divinity, Archdeacon of Salisbury, and Dean of 
Lichfield. It is said that he would have been made a 
bishop after the Revolution if he had not given offence to 
the Government by strenuously opposing, in the Convoca- 
tion of 1689, the liberal policy of William and Tillotson. 

In 1672 his son Joseph was born. Of Joseph's childhood 
we know little. He learned his rudiments at schools in his 
father's neighborhood, and Avas then sent to the Charter 
House. The anecdotes which are popularly related about 
his boyish tricks do not harmonize very well with what we 
know of his riper years. There remains a tradition that he 
was the ringleader in a barring out, and another tradition 
that he ran away from school and hid himself in a wood, 
where he fed on berries and slept in a hollow tree, till after 
a long search he was discovered and brought home. If 
these stories be true, it would be curious to know by 
what moral discipline so mutinous and enterprising a lad 
was transformed into the gentlest and most modest of 
men. 

We have abundant proof that, whatever Joseph's pranks 
may have been, he pursued his studies vigorously and suc- 
cessfully. At fifteen he was not only fit for the university, 
but carried thither a classical taste and a stock of learning 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 231 

which would have done honor to a Master of Arts. He 
was entered at Queen's College, Oxford; but he had not 
been many months there, when some of his Latin verses 
fell by accident into the hands of Dr. Lancaster, Dean of 
Magdalene College, who found it easy to procure for his 
young friend admittance to the advantages of a foundation 
then generally esteemed the wealthiest in Europe. 

At Magdalene Addison resided during ten years. He 
was, at first, one of those scholars who are called Demies, 
but was subsequently elected a fellow. His college is still 
proud of his name ; his portrait still hangs in the hall ; and 
strangers are still told that his favorite walk was under the 
elms which fringe the meadow on the banks of the Cher- 
well. It is said, and is highly probable, that he was distin- 
guished among his fellow-students by the delicacy of his 
feelings, by the shyness of his manners, and by the assiduity 
with which he often prolonged his studies far into the night. 
It is certain that his reputation for ability and learning 
stood high. Many years later, the ancient doctors of Mag- 
dalene continued to talk in their common room of his boyish 
compositions, and expressed their sorrow that no copy of 
exercises so remarkable had been preserved. 

It is proper, however, to remark that Miss Aikin has 
committed the error, very pardonable in a lady, of overrat- 
ing Addison's classical attainments. In one department of 
learning, indeed, his proficiency was such as it is hardly 
possible to overrate. His knowledge of the Latin poets 
was singularly exact and profound. He understood them 
thoroughly, entered into their spirit, and had the finest and 
most discriminating perception of all their peculiarities of 
style and melody ; nay, he copied their manner with admir- 
able skill, and surpassed, we think, all their British imita- 
tors who had preceded him, Buchanan and Milton alone 
excepted. This is high praise ; and beyond this we cannot 
with justice go. It is clear that Addison's serious attention 



232 Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

during his residence at the university was almost entirely 
concentrated on Latin poetry, and that, if he did not wholly 
neglect other provinces of ancient literature, he vouchsafed 
to them only a cursory glance. He does not appear to have 
attained more than an ordinary acquaintance with the 
political and moral writers of Eome ; nor was his own Latin 
prose by any means equal to his Latin verse. His knowl- 
edge of Greek, though doubtless such as was, in his time, 
thought respectable at Oxford, was evidently less than that 
which many lads now carry away every year from Eton 
and Eugby. A minute examination of his works, if we had 
time to make such examination, would fully bear out these 
remarks. 

It is probable that the classical acquirements of Addison 
were of as much service to him as if they had been more 
extensive. The world generally gives its admiration, not 
to the man who does what nobody else even attempts to do, 
but to the man who does best what multitudes do well. 
Bentley was so immeasurably superior to all the other schol- 
ars of his time that few among them could discover his 
superiority. But the accomplishment in which Addison 
excelled his contemporaries was then, as it is now, highly 
valued and assiduously cultivated at all English seats of 
learning. Everybody who had been at a public school had 
written Latin verses ; many had written such verses with 
tolerable success, and were quite able to appreciate, though 
by no means able to rival, the skill with which Addison 
imitated Virgil. His lines on the Barometer and the Bowl- 
ing-green were applauded by hundreds, to whom the Dis- 
sertation on the Epistles of Phalaris was as unintelligible 
as the hieroglyphics on an obelisk. 

The Latin poems of Addison were greatly and justly 
admired both at Oxford and Cambridge, before his name 
had ever been heard by the wits who thronged the coffee- 
houses round Drury Lane Theatre. In his twenty-second 



Macaulay^s Essay 07i Addison. 233 

year, he ventured to appear before the public as a writer 
of English verse. He addressed some complimentary lines 
to Dryden, who, after many triumphs and many reverses, 
had at length reached a secure and lonely eminence among 
the literary men of that age. Dryden appears to have been 
much gratified by the young scholar's praise ; and an inter- 
change of civilities and good offices followed. Addison was 
probably introduced by Dryden to Congreve, and was cer- 
tainly presented by Congreve to Charles Montague, who 
was then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and leader of the 
Whig party in the House of Commons. 

At this time Addison seemed inclined to devote himself 
to poetry. He published a translation of part of the fourth 
Georgic, Lines to King William, and other performances of 
equal value, that is to say, of no value at all. But in those 
days the public was in the habit of receiving with applause 
pieces which would now have little chance of obtaining the 
Newdigate prize or the Seatonian prize. And the reason is 
obvious. The heroic couplet was then the favorite meas- 
ure. The art of arranging words in that measure, so that 
the lines may flow smoothly, that the accents may fall cor- 
rectly, that the rhymes may strike the ear strongly, and 
that there may be a pause at the end of every distich, is an 
art as mechanical as that of mending a kettle or shoeing a 
horse, and may be learned by any human being who has 
sense enough to learn anything. But, like other mechani- 
cal arts, it was gradually improved by means of many ex- 
periments and many failures. It was reserved for Pope to 
discover the trick, to make himself complete master of it, 
and to teach it to everybody else. From the time when his 
Pastorals appeared, heroic versification became matter of 
rule and compass ; and, before long, all artists were on a 
level. Hundreds of dunces who nev^er blundered on one 
happy thought or expression were able to write reams of 
couplets which, as far as euphony was concerned, could not 



234 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

be distinguished from those of Pope himself, and which 
very clever writers of the reign of Charles the Second, 
Eochester, for example, or Marvel, or Oldham, would have 
contemplated with admiring despair. 

Ben Jonson was a great man, Hoole a very small man. 
But Hoole, coming after Pope, had learned how to manu- 
facture decasyllabic verses, and poured them forth by thou- 
sands and tens of thousands, all as well turned, as smooth, 
and as like each other as the blocks which have passed 
through Mr. Brunei's mill in the dockyard at Portsmouth. 
Ben's heroic couplets resemble blocks rudely hewn out by 
an unpractised hand, with a blunt hatchet. Take as a spec- 
imen his translation of a celebrated passage in the ^neid : — 

This child our parent earth, stirrM up with spite 

Of all the gods, brought forth, and, as some write, 

She was last sister of that giant race 

That sought to scale Jove's court, right swift of pace, 

And swifter far of wing, a monster vast 

And dreadful. Look, how many plumes are placed 

On her huge corpse, so many waking eyes 

Stick underneath, and, which may stranger rise 

In the report, as many tongues she wears. 

Compare with these jagged, misshapen distichs the neat 
fabric which Hoole's machine produces in unlimited abun- 
dance. We take the first lines on which we open in his 
version of Tasso. They are neither better nor worse than 
the rest : — 

O thou, whoe'er thou art, whose steps are led. 
By choice or fate, these lonely shores to tread. 
No greater wonders east or west can boast 
Than yon small island on the pleasing coast. 
If e'er thy sight would blissful scenes explore, 
The current pass, and seek the further shore. 

Ever since the time of Pope there has been a glut of lines 
of this sort ; and we are now as little disposed to admire a 



Macaulai/s Essay on Addison. 235 

man for being able to write them as for being able to write 
his name. But in the days of William the Third such ver- 
sification was rare ; and a rhymer who had any skill in it 
passed for a great poet, just as in the dark ages a person 
who could write his name passed for a great clerk. Accord- 
ingly Duke, Stepney, Granville, Walsh, and others whose 
only title to fame was that they said in tolerable metre 
what might have been as well said in prose, or what was 
not worth saying at all, were honored with marks of dis- 
tinction which ought to be reserved for genius. With these 
Addison must have ranked, if he had not earned true and 
lasting glory by performances which very little resembled 
his juvenile poems. 

Dryden was now busied with Virgil, and obtained from 
Addison a critical preface to the Georgics. In return for 
this service, and for other services of the same kind, the 
veteran poet, in the postscript to the translation of the 
.^neid, complimented his young friend with great liber- 
ality, and indeed with more liberality than sincerity. He 
affected to be afraid that his own performance would not 
sustain a comparison with the version of the fourth Georgic, 
by "the most ingenious Mr. Addison of Oxford." "After 
his bees," added Dryden, "my latter swarm is scarcely 
worth the hiving." 

The time had now arrived when it was necessary for 
Addison to choose a calling. Everything seemed to point 
his course toward the clerical profession. His habits were 
regular, his opinions orthodox. His college had large eccle- 
siastical preferment in its gift, and boasts that it has given 
at least one bishop to almost every see in England. Dr. 
Lancelot Addison held an honorable place in the Church, 
and had set his heart on seeing his son a clergyman. It is 
clear, from some expressions in the young man's rhymes, 
that his intention was to take orders. But Charles Mon- 
tague interfered. Montague had first brought himself into 



236 Macaulay's Essay 07i Addison. 

notice by verses, well timed and not contemptibly written, 
but never, we think, rising above mediocrity. Fortunately 
for himself and for his country, he early quitted poetry, 
in which he could never have attained a rank as high as 
that of Dorset or Rochester, and turned his mind to official 
and parliamentary business. It is written that the ingen- 
ious person who undertook to instruct Easselas, Prince of 
Abyssinia, in the art of flying, ascended an eminence, 
waved his wings, sprung into the air, and instantly dropped 
into the lake. But it is added that the wings, which were 
unable to support him through the sky, bore him up effect- 
ually as soon as he was in the water. This is no bad type 
of the fate of Charles Montague, and of men like him. 
When he attempted to soar into the regions of poetical 
invention, he altogether failed; but as soon as he had 
descended from that ethereal elevation into a lower and 
grosser element, his talents instantly raised him above the 
mass. He became a distinguished financier, debater, 
courtier, and party leader. He still retained his fondness 
for the pursuits of his early days ; but he showed that 
fondness not by wearying the public with his own feeble 
performances, but by discovering and encouraging literary 
excellence in others. A crowd of wits and poets, who could 
easily liave vanquished him as a competitor, revered him 
as a judge and a patron. In his plans for the encourage- 
ment of learning, he Avas cordially supported by the ablest 
and most virtuous of his colleagues, the Lord Chancellor 
Somers. Though both these great statesmen had a sincere 
love of letters, it was not solely from a love of letters that 
they were desirous to enlist youths of high intellectual 
qualifications in the public service. The Revolution had 
altered the whole system of government. Before that 
event, the Press had been controlled by censors, and the 
Parliament had sat only two months in eight years. Now 
the Press was free, and had begun to exercise unprecedented 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 237 

influence on the public mind. Parliament met annually, 
and sat long. The chief power in the State had passed to 
the House of Commons. At such a conjuncture, it was 
natural that literary and oratorical talents should rise in 
value. There was danger that a government which ne- 
glected such talents might be subverted by them. It was, 
therefore, a profound and enlightened policy which led 
Montague and Somers to attach such talents to the Whig 
party, by the strongest ties both of interest and of grati- 
tude. 

It was in the year 1699, when Addison had just com- 
pleted his twenty-seventh year, that the course of his life 
was finally determined. Both the great chiefs of the min- 
istry were kindly disposed towards him. In political opin- 
ions he already was what he continued to be through life, a 
firm, though a moderate, Whig. He had addressed the 
most polished and vigorous of his early English lines to 
Somers, and had dedicated to Montague a Latin poem, truly 
Virgilian, both in style and rhythm, on the Peace of Eys- 
wick. The wish of the young poet's great friends was, it 
should seem, to employ him in the service of the crown 
abroad. But an intimate knowledge of the French language 
was a qualification indispensable to a diplomatist; and 
this qualification Addison had not acquired. It was, there- 
fore, thought desirable that he should pass some time on 
the Continent in preparing himself for official employment. 
His own means were not such as would enable him to 
travel, but a pension of three hundred pounds a year was 
procured for him ^ the interest of the lord chancellor. It 
seems to have been apprehended that some difficulty might 
be started by the rulers of Magdalene College. But the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer wrote in the strongest terms 
to Hough. The State — such was the purport of Mon- 
tague's letter — could not, at that time, spare to the Church 
such a man as Addison. Too many high civil posts were 



238 Macaulay' a Essay on Addison. 

already occupied by .adventurers, who, destitute of every 
liberal art and sentiment, at once pillaged and disgraced 
the country which they pretended to serve. It had become 
necessary to recruit for the public service from a very dif- 
ferent class, from that class of which Addison was the 
representative. The close of the minister's letter was 
remarkable. " I am called," he said, " an enemy of the 
Church. But I will never do it any other injury than 
keeping Mr. Addison out of it." 

This interference was successful ; and, in the summer of 
1699, Addison, made a rich man by his pension, and still 
retaining his fellowship, quitted his beloved Oxford, and 
set out on his travels. He crossed from Dover to Calais, 
proceeded to Paris, and was received there with great kind- 
ness and politeness by a kinsman of his friend Montague, 
Charles, Earl of Manchester, who had just been appointed 
ambassador to the court of France. The countess, a Whig 
and a toast, was probably as gracious as her lord ; for Addi- 
son long retained an agreeable recollection of the impression 
which she at this time made on him, and, in some lively 
lines written on the glasses of the Kit Cat Club, described 
the envy which her cheeks, glowing with the genuine bloom 
of England, had excited among the painted beauties of 
Versailles. 

While Addison was at Paris, an event took place which 
made that capital a disagreeable residence for an English- 
man and a Whig. Charles, second of the name. King of 
Spain, died; and bequeathed his dominions to Philip, Duke 
of Anjou, a younger son of the Dauphin. The King of 
France, in direct violation of his engagements both with 
Great Britain and with the States General, accepted the 
bequest on behalf of his grandson. The house of Bourbon 
was at the summit of human grandeur. England had been 
outwitted, and found herself in a situation at once degrad- 
ing and perilous. The people of France, not presaging the 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 239 

calamities by which they were destined to expiate the per- 
fidy of their sovereign, went mad with pride and delight. 
Every man looked as if a great estate had just been left 
him, 

"The French conversation," said Addison, "begins to 
grow insupportable ; that which was before the vainest 
nation in the world is now worse than ever." Sick of the 
arrogant exultation of the Parisians, and probably foresee- 
ing that the peace between France and England could not 
be of long duration, he set off for Italy. 

In December, 1700, he embarked at Marseilles. As he 
glided along the Ligurian coast, he was delighted by the 
sight of myrtles and olive trees, which retained their ver- 
dure under the winter solstice. Soon, however, he encoun- 
tered one of the black storms of the Mediterranean. The 
captain of the ship gave up all for lost, and confessed him- 
self to a Capuchin who happened to be on board. The 
English heretic, in the mean time, fortified himself against 
the terrors of death with devotions of a very different kind. 
How strong an impression this perilous voyage made on 
him appears from the ode, " How are thy servants blest, O 
Lord ! " which was long after published in The Spectator. 
After some days of discomfort and danger, Addison was 
glad to land at Savona, and to make his way, over moun- 
tains where no road had yet been hewn out by art, to the 
city of Genoa. 

At Genoa, still ruled by her own Doge, and by the nobles 
whose names were inscribed on her Book of Gold, Addison 
made a short stay. He admired the narrow streets over- 
hung by long lines of towering palaces, the walls rich with 
frescoes, the gorgeous temple of the Annunciation, and the 
tapestries whereon were recorded the long glories of the 
house of Doria. Thence he hastened to Milan, where he 
contemplated the Gothic magnificence of the cathedral with 
more wonder than pleasure. He passed Lake Benacus 



240 Macaulay''s Essay on Addison. 

while a gale was blowing, and saw the waves raging as they 
raged when Virgil looked upon them. At Venice, then the 
gayest spot in Europe, the traveller spent the Carnival, the 
gayest season of the year, in the midst of masques, dances, 
and serenades. Here he was at once diverted and provoked 
by the absurd dramatic pieces which then disgraced the 
Italian stage. To one of those pieces, however, h^ was 
indebted for a valuable hint. He was present when a ridic- 
ulous play on the death of Cato was performed. Cato, it 
seems, was in love with a daughter of Scipio. The lady 
had given her heart to Caesar. The rejected lover deter- 
mined to destroy himself. He appeared seated in his lib- 
rary, a dagger in his hand, a Plutarch and a Tasso before 
him ; and, in this position, he pronounced a soliloquy before 
he struck the blow. We are surprised that so remarkable 
a circumstance as this should have escaped the notice of all 
Addison's biographers. There cannot, we conceive, be the 
smallest doubt that this scene, in spite of its absurdities 
and anachronisms, struck the traveller's imagination, and 
suggested to him the thought of bringing Cato on the Eng- 
lish stage. It is well known that about this time he began 
his tragedy, and that he finished the first four acts before 
he returned to England. 

On his way from Venice to Kome, he was drawn some 
miles out of the beaten road, by a wish to see the smallest 
independent state in Europe. On a rock where the snow 
still lay, though the Italian spring was now far advanced, 
was perched the little fortress of San Marino. The roads 
which led to the secluded town were so bad that few travel- 
lers had ever visited it, and none had ever published an. 
account of it. Addison could not suppress a good-natured 
smile at the simple manners and institutions of this singu- 
lar community. But he observed, with the exultation of a 
Whig, that the rude mountain tract which formed the terri- 
tory of the republic swarmed with an honest, healthy, and. 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison, 241 

contented peasantry, while the rich plain which surrounded 
the metropolis of civil and spiritual tyranny was scarcely 
less desolate than the uncleared wilds of America. 

At Kome Addison remained on his first visit only long 
enough to catch a glimpse of St, Peter's and of the Pantheon. 
His haste is the more extraordinary because the Holy Week 
was close at hand. He has given no hint which can enable 
us to pronounce why he chose to fly from a spectacle which 
every year allures from distant regions persons of far less 
taste and sensibility than his. Possibly, travelling, as he 
did, at the charge of a government distinguished by its 
enmity to the Church of Kome, he may have thought that 
it would be imprudent in him to assist at the most magnifi- 
cent rite of that Church. Many eyes would be upon him ; 
and he might find it difficult to behave in such a manner as 
to give offence neither to his patrons in England, nor to 
those among whom he resided. Whatever his motives may 
have been, he turned his back on the most august and affect- 
ing ceremony which is known among men, and posted along 
the Appian AVay to Naples. 

Naples was then destitute of what are now, perhaps, its 
chief attractions. The lovely bay and the awful mountain 
were indeed there. But a farm-house stood on the theatre 
of Herculaneum, and rows of vines grew over the streets of 
Pompeii. The temples of Psestum had not, indeed, been 
hidden from the eye of man by any great convulsion of 
nature ; but, strange to say, their existence was a secret even 
to artists and antiquaries. Though situated within a few 
hours' journey of a great capital, where Salvator had not 
long before painted, and where Vico was then lecturing, 
those noble remains were as little known to Europe as the 
ruined cities overgrown by the forests of Yucatan. What 
was to be seen at Naples, Addison saw. He climbed Vesu- 
vius, explored the tunnel of Posilipo, and wandered among 
the vines and almond trees of Capreae. But neither the won- 



242 Maeaulay' s Essay on Addison. 

ders of nature nor those of art could so occupy liis attention 
as to prevent him from noticing, though cursorily, the abuses 
of the Government and the misery of the people. The 
great kingdom which had just descended to Philip the Fifth 
was in a state of paralytic dotage. Even Castile and Aragon 
were sunk in wretchedness. Yet, compared with the Italian 
dependencies of the Spanish crown, Castile and Aragon 
might be called prosperous. It is clear that all the obser- 
vations which Addison made in Italy tended to confirm him 
in the political opinions which he had adopted at home. To 
the last, he always spoke of foreign travel as the best cure 
for Jacobitism. In his Freeholder, the Tory fox-hunter 
asks what travelling is good for, except to teach a man to 
jabber French, and to talk against passive obedience. 

From Naples Addison returned to Eome by sea along the 
coast which his favorite Virgil had celebrated. The felucca 
passed the headland where the oar and trumpet were placed 
by the Trojan adventurers on the tomb of Misenus, and 
anchored at night under the shelter of the fabled promon- 
tory of Circe. The voyage ended in the Tiber, still over- 
hung with dark verdure, and still turbid with yellow sand, 
as when it met the eyes of J^^neas. From the ruined port 
of Ostia the stranger hurried to Eome ; and at Eome he 
remained during those hot and sickly months when, even in 
the Augustan Age, all who could make their escape fled 
from mad dogs and from streets black with funerals, to 
gather the first figs of the season in the country. It is 
probable that, when he, long after, poured forth in verse 
his gratitude to the Providence which had enabled him to 
breathe unhurt in tainted air, he was thinking of the 
August and September which he passed at Eome. 

It was not till the latter end of October that he tore him- 
self away from the masterpieces of ancient and modern art 
which are collected in the city so long the mistress of the 
world. He then journeyed northward, passed through 



Macaulay'a Essay on Addison. 243 

Siena, and for a moment forgot his prejudices in favor of 
classic architecture as he looked on the magnificent cathe- 
dral. At Florence he spent some days with the Duke of 
Shrewsbury, who, cloyed with the pleasures of ambition, and 
impatient of its pains, fearing both parties, and loving 
neither, had determined to hide in an Italian retreat talents 
and accomplishments which, if they had been united with 
fixed principles and civil courage, might have made him the 
foremost man of his age. These days, we are told, passed 
pleasantly ; and we can easily believe it. For Addison 
was a delightful companion when he was at his ease ; and 
the Duke, though he seldom forgot that he was a Talbot, had 
the invaluable art of putting at ease all who came near him. 
Addison gave some time to Florence, and especially to 
the sculptures in the Museum, which he preferred even to 
those of the Vatican. He then pursued his journey through 
a country in which the ravages of the last war were still 
discernible, and in which all men were looking forward 
with dread to a still fiercer conflict. Eugene had already 
descended from the Ehsetian Alps to dispute with Catinat 
the rich plain of Lombardy. The faithless ruler of Savoy 
was still reckoned among the allies of Lewis. England had 
not yet actually declared war against France; but Man- 
chester had left Paris ; and the negotiations which pro- 
duced the Grand Alliance against the house of Bourbon were 
in progress. Under such circumstances, it was desirable for 
an English traveller to reach neutral ground without delay. 
Addison resolved to cross Mont Cenis. It was December ; 
and the road was very different from that which now 
reminds the stranger of the power and genius of iSTapoleon. 
The winter, however, was mild ; and the passage was, for 
those times, easy. To this journey Addison alluded when, 
in the ode which we have already quoted, he said that for 
him the Divine goodness had warmed the hoary Alpine 
hills. 



244 Macaulay^ Essay on Addison. 

It was in the midst of the eternal snow that he composed 
his Epistle to his friend Montague, now Lord Halifax. 
That Epistle, once widely renowned, is now known only to 
curious readers, and will hardly be considered by those to 
whom it is known as in any perceptible degree heightening 
Addison's fame. It is, however, decidedly superior to any 
English composition which he had previously published. 
Nay, we think it quite as good as any poem in heroic metre 
which appeared during the interval between the death of 
Dryden and the publication of the Essay on Criticism. It 
contains passages as good as the second-rate passages of 
Pope, and would have added to the reputation of Parnell or 
Prior. 

But, whatever be the literary merits or defects of the 
Epistle, it undoubtedly does honor to the principles and 
spirit of the author. Halifax had now nothing to give. 
He had fallen from power, had been held up to obloquy, had 
been impeached by the House of Commons, and, though his 
peers had dismissed the impeachment, had, as it seemed, 
little chance of ever again filling high office. The Epistle, 
written at such a time, is one among many proofs that there 
was no mixture of cowardice or meanness in the suavity and 
moderation which distinguished Addison from all the other 
public men of those stormy times. 

At Geneva the traveller learned that a partial change of 
ministry had taken place in England, and that the Earl of 
Manchester had become Secretary of State. Manchester 
exerted himself to serve his young friend. It was thought 
advisable that an English agent should be near the person 
of Eugene in Italy ; and Addison, whose diplomatic educa- 
tion was now finished, was the man selected. He was pre- 
paring to enter on his honorable functions, when all his 
prospects were for a time darkened by the death of William 
the Third. 

Anne had long felt a strong aversion, personal, political, 



Macaiday's Essay on Addison. 245 

and religious, to the Whig party. That aversion appeared 
in the first measures of her reign. Manchester was de- 
prived of the seals, after he had held them only a few 
weeks. Neither Somers nor Halifax was sworn of the privy 
council. Addison shared the fate of his three patrons. His 
hopes of employment in the public service were at an endj 
his pension was stopped ; and it was necessary for him to 
support himself by his own exertions. He became tutor to 
a young English traveller, and appears to have rambled with 
his pupil over great part of Switzerland and Germany. 
At this time he wrote his pleasing treatise on Medals. It 
was not published till after his death ; but several distin- 
guished scholars saw the manuscript, and gave just praise 
to the grace of the style, and to the learning and ingenuity 
evinced by the quotations. 

From Germany Addison repaired to Holland, where he 
learned the melancholy news of his father's death. After 
passing some months in the United Provinces, he returned 
about the close of the year 1703 to England. He was there 
cordially received by his friends, and introduced by them 
into the Kit Cat Club, a society in which were collected all 
the various talents and accomplishments which then gave 
lustre to the Whig party. 

Addison was, during some months after his return from 
the Continent, hard pressed by pecuniary difficulties. But 
it was soon in the power of his noble patrons to serve him 
effectually. A political change, silent and gradual, but of 
the highest importance, was in daily progress. The acces- 
sion of Anne had been hailed by the Tories with transports 
of joy and hope ; and for a time it seemed that the Whigs 
had fallen never to rise again. 

But the country gentlemen and country clergymen were 
fated to be deceived, not for the last time. The prejudices 
and passions which raged Avithout control in vicarages, in 
cathedral closes, and in the manor-houses of fox-hunting 



246 Macaulay'^s Essay on Addison. 

squires, were not shared by the chiefs of the ministry. 
Those statesmen saw that it was both for the public interest 
and for their own interest to adopt a Whig policy, at least 
as respected the alliances of the country and the conduct of 
the war. But if the foreign policy of the Whigs were 
adopted, it was impossible to abstain from adopting also 
their financial policy. The natural consequences followed. 
The rigid Tories were alienated from the Government. 
The votes of the Whigs became necessary to it. The votes 
of the Whigs could be secured only by further concessions ; 
and further concessions the queen was induced to make. 

Such was the state of things when tidings arrived of the 
great battle fought at Blenheim on the 13th August, 1704. 
By the Whigs the news was hailed with transports of joy 
and pride. No fault, no cause of quarrel, could be remem- 
bered by them against the commander whose genius had, in 
one day, changed the face of Europe, saved the imperial 
throne, humbled the house of Bourbon, and secured the Act 
of Settlement against foreign hostility. The feeling of the 
Tories was very different. They could not indeed, without 
imprudence, openly express regret at an event so glorious 
to their country ; but their congratulations were so cold and 
sullen as to give deep disgust to the victorious general and 
his friends. 

Lord Treasurer Godolphin was not a reading man. What- 
ever time he could spare from business he was in the habit of 
spending at Newmarket or at the card-table. But he was not 
absolutely indifferent to poetry ; and he was too intelligent 
an observer not to perceive that literature was a formidable 
engine of political warfare, and that the great Whig leaders 
had strengthened their party, and raised their character, by 
extending a liberal and judicious patronage to good writers. 
He was mortified, and not without reason, by the exceeding 
badness of the poems which appeared in honor of the battle 
of Blenheim. One of these poems has been rescued from 
oblivion by the exquisite absurdity of three lines. 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 247 

Think of two thousand gentlemen at least, 
And each man mounted on his capering beast ; 
Into the Danube they were pushed by shoals. 

Where to procure better verses the treasurer did not 
know. He understood how to negotiate a loan, or remit a 
subsidy : he was also well versed in the history of running 
horses and fighting cocks ; but his acquaintance among the 
poets was very small. He consulted Halifax ; but Halifax 
affected to decline the office of adviser. He had, he said, 
done his best, when he had power, to encourage men whose 
abilities and acquirements might do honor to their country. 
Those times were over. Other maxims had prevailed. 
Merit was suffered to pine in obscurity, and the public 
money was squandered on the undeserving. " I do know," 
he added, "a gentleman who would celebrate the battle in 
a manner worthy of the subject ; but I will not name him." 
Godolphin, who was expert at the soft answer which turn- 
eth away wrath, and who was under the necessity of paying 
court to the Whigs, gently replied that there was too much 
ground for Halifax's complaints, but that what was amiss 
should in time -be rectified, and that in the mean time 
the services of a man such as Halifax had described should 
be liberally rewarded. Halifax then mentioned Addison, 
but, mindful of the dignity as well as of the pecuniary in- 
terest of his friend, insisted that the minister should apply 
in the most courteous manner to Addison himself ; and this 
Godolphin promised to do. 

Addison then occupied a garret up three pair of stairs, 
over a small shop in the Haymarket. In this humble lodg- 
ing he was surprised, on the morning which followed the 
conversation between Godolphin and Halifax, by a visit 
from no less a person than the Eight Honorable Henry 
Boyle, then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and afterward 
Lord Carleton. This high-born minister had been sent by 
the Lord Treasurer as ambassador to the needy poet. 



248 Macaulay^s Essay on Addisoyi. 

Addison readily undertook the proposed task, a task which, 
to so good a Whig, was probably a pleasure. When the 
poem was little more than half finished, he showed it to 
Godolphin, who was delighted with it, and particularly 
with the famous similitude of the Angel. Addison was in- 
stantly appointed to a commissionership worth about two 
hundred pounds a year, and was assured that this appoint- 
ment was only an earnest of greater favors. 

The Campaign came forth, and was as much admired by 
the public as by the minister. It pleases us less, on the 
whole, than the Epistle to Halifax. Yet it undoubtedly 
ranks high among the poems which appeared during the 
interval between the death of Dryden and the dawn of 
Pope's genius. The chief merit of the Campaign, we think, 
is that which w^as noticed by Johnson, the manly and 
rational rejection of fiction. The first great poet whose 
works have come down to us sung of war long before war 
became a science or a trade. If, in his time, there was 
enmity between two little Greek towns, each poured forth 
its crowd of citizens, ignorant of discipline, and armed with 
implements of labor rudely turned into weapons. On each 
side appeared conspicuous a few chiefs whose wealth had 
enabled them to procure good armor, horses, and chariots, 
and whose leisure had enabled them to practise military 
exercises. One such chief, if he were a man of great 
strength, agility, and courage, would probably be more 
formidable than twenty common men ; and the force and 
dexterity with which he flung his spear might have no in- 
considerable share in deciding the event of the day. Such 
were probably the battles with which Homer was familiar. 
But Homer related the actions of men of a former genera- 
tion, of men who sprung from the gods, and communed with 
the gods face to face, of men one of whom could with ease 
hurl rocks which two sturdy hinds of a later period would 
be unable even to lift. He therefore naturally represented 



Macaulay'8 Essay on Addison. 249 

their martial exploits as resembling in kind, but far surpass- 
ing in magnitude, those of the stoutest and most expert 
combatants of his own age. Achilles, clad in celestial 
armor, drawn by celestial coursers, grasping the spear 
which none but himself could raise, driving all Troy and 
Lycia before him, and choking Scamander with dead, was 
only a magnificent exaggeration of the real hero, who, 
strong, fearless, accustomed to the use of weapons, guarded 
by a shield and helmet of the best Sidonian fabric, and 
whirled along by horses of Thessalian breed, struck down 
with his own right arm foe after foe. In all rude societies 
similar notions are found. There are at this day countries 
where the Life guardsman Shaw would be considered as a 
much greater warrior than the Duke of Wellington. Bona- 
parte loved to describe the astonishment with which the 
Mamelukes looked at his diminutive figure. Mourad Bey, dis- 
tinguished above all his fellows by his bodily strength, and by 
the skill with which he managed his horse and his sabre, could 
not believe that a man who was scarcely five feet high, and 
rode like a butcher, could be the greatest soldier in Europe. 
Homer's descriptions of war had therefore as much truth 
as poetry requires. But truth was altogether wanting to 
the performances of those who, writing about battles which 
had scarcely anything in common with the battles of his 
times, servilely imitated his manner. The folly of Silius 
Italicus, in particular, is positively nauseous. He under- 
took to record in verse the vicissitudes of a great struggle 
between generals of the first order; and his narrative is made 
up of the hideous wounds which these generals inflicted 
with their own hands. This detestable fashion was copied 
in modern times, and continued to prevail down to the age 
of Addison. Several versifiers had described William turn- 
ing thousands to flight by his single prowess, and dyeing 
the Boyne with Irish blood, ^ay, so estimable a writer as 
John Philips, the author of The Splendid Shilling, repre-; 



250 Macaulay's Essay 07i Addison. 

sented Marlborough as having won the battle of Blenheim 
merely by strength of muscle and skill in fence. The fol- 
lowing lines may serve as an example : — 

Churchill, viewing where 
The violence of Tallard most prevail'd, 
Came to oppose his slaughtering arm. With speed 
Precipitate he rode, urging his way 
O'er hills of gasping heroes, and fallen steeds 
Rolling in death. Destruction, grim with blood, 
Attends his furious course. Around his head 
The glowing balls play innocent, while he 
With dire impetuous sway deals fatal blows 
Among the flying Gauls, In Gallic blood 
He dyes his reeking sword, and strews the ground 
With headless ranks. What can they do ? Or how 
Withstand his wide-destroying sword ? 

Addison, with excellent sense and taste, departed from 
this ridiculous fashion. He reserved his praise for the 
qualities which made Marlborough truly great, energy, 
sagacity, military science. But, above all, the poet extolled 
the firmness of that mind which, in the midst of confusion, 
uproar, and slaughter, examined and disposed everything 
with the serene wisdom of a higher intelligence. 

Here it was that he introduced the famous comparison of 
Marlborough to an angel guiding the whirlwind. We will 
not dispute the general justice of Johnson's remarks on this 
passage. But we must point out one circumstance which 
appears to have escaped all the critics. The extraordinary 
effect which this simile produced when it first appeared, 
and which to the following generation seemed inexplicable, 
is doubtless to be chiefly attributed to a line which most 
readers now regard as a feeble parenthesis, 

Such as, of late, o'er pale Britannia pass'd. 

Addison spoke, not of a storm, but of the storm. The 
great tempest of November, 1703, the only tempest which 



Macaulay''s Essay on Addison. 251 

in our latitude has equalled the rage of a tropical hurricane, 
had left a dreadful recollection in the minds of all men. 
No other tempest Avas ever in this country the occasion of 
a parliamentary address or of a public fast. AY hole fleets 
had been cast away. Large mansious had been blown down. 
One prelate had been buried beneath the ruins of his palace. 
London and Bristol had presented the appearance of cities 
just sacked. Hundreds of families were still in mourning. 
The prostrate trunks of large trees, and the ruins of houses, 
still attested, in all the Southern counties, the fury of the 
blast. The popularity which the simile of the angel enjoyed 
among Addison's contemporaries has always seemed to us 
to be a remarkable instance of the advantage which, in 
rhetoric and poetry, the particular has over the general. 

Soon after the Campaign, was published Addison's Narra- 
tive of his Travels in Italy. The first effect produced by 
this Narrative was disappointment. The crowd of readers 
who expected politics and scandal, speculations on the pro- 
jects of Victor Amadeus, and anecdotes about the jollities 
of convents and the amours of cardinals and nuns, were con- 
founded by finding that the writer's mind Avas much more 
occupied by the war between the Trojans and Rutulians 
than by the war between France and Austria; and that he 
seemed to have heard no scandal of later date than the gal- 
lantries of the Empress Faustina. In time, however, the 
judgment of the many was overruled by that of the few ; 
and, before the book was reprinted, it was so eagerly sought 
that it sold for five times the original price. It is still read 
with pleasure : the style is pure and flowing ; the classical 
quotations and allusions are numerous and happy ; and we 
are now and then charmed by that singularly humane and 
delicate humor in which Addison excelled all men. Yet 
this agreeable work, even when considered merely as the 
history of a literary tour, may justly be censured on account 
of its faults of omission. We have already said that. 



252 Macaulay'8 Essay on Addison, 

though rich in extracts from the Latin poets, it contains 
scarcely any references to the Latin orators and historians. 
We must add that it contains little or rather no information 
respecting the history and literature of modern Italy. The 
truth is, that Addison knew little, and cared less, about the 
literature of modern Italy. His favorite models were Latin. 
His favorite critics were French. Half the Tuscan poetry 
that he had read seemed to him monstrous, and the other 
half tawdry. 

His Travels were followed by the lively opera of Rosa- 
mond. This piece was ill set to music, and therefore failed 
on the stage, but it completely succeeded in print, and is 
indeed excellent in its kind. The smoothness with which 
the verses glide, and the elasticity with which they bound, 
is, to our ears at least, very pleasing. We are inclined to 
think that if Addison had left heroic couplets to Pope, and 
blank verse to Eowe, and had employed himself in writing 
airy and spirited songs, his reputation as a poet would 
have stood far higher than it now does. Some years after 
his death, Eosamond was set to new music by Doctor Arne, 
and was performed with complete success. Several pas- 
sages long retained their popularity, and were daily sung, 
during the latter part of George the Second's reign, at all 
the harpsichords in England. 

While Addison thus amused himself, his prospects, and the 
prospects of his party, were constantly becoming brighter 
and brighter. In the spring of 1705, the ministers were 
freed from the restraint imposed by a House of Commons 
in which Tories of the most perverse class had the ascend- 
ancy. The elections were favorable to the Whigs. The 
coalition which had been tacitly and gradually formed was 
now openly avowed. The Great Seal was given to Cowper. 
Somers and Halifax were sworn of the council. Halifax 
was sent in the following year to carry the decorations of 
the Order of the Garter to the Electoral Prince of Hanover, 



Macaulay's Essay on Addisofi. 253 

and was accompanied on this honorable mission by Addison, 
who had just been made Under-secretaiy of State. The 
Secretary of State under whom Addison first served was Sir 
Charles Hedges, a Tory. But Hedges was soon dismissed 
to make room for the most vehement of Whigs, Charles, 
Earl of Sunderland. In every department of the State, 
indeed, the High Churchmen were compelled to give place 
to their opponents. At the close of 1707, the Tories who 
still remained in office strove to rally, with Harley at their 
head. But the attempt, though favored by the queen, who 
had always been a Tory at heart, and who had now quar- 
relled with the Duchess of Malborough, was unsuccessful. 
The time was not yet. The Captain General was at the 
height of popularity and glory. The Low Church party 
had a majority in Parliament. The country squires and 
rectors, though occasionally uttering a savage growl, were 
for the most part in a state of torpor, which lasted till 
they were roused into activity, and indeed into madness, by 
the prosecution of Sacheverell. Harley and his adherents 
were compelled to retire. The victory of the Whigs was 
complete. At the general election of 1708 their strength 
in the House of Commons became irresistible ; and, before 
the end of that year, Somers was made Lord President of 
the Council, and Wharton Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. 

Addison sat for Malmsbury in the House of Commons 
which was elected in 1708. But the House of Commons 
was not the field for him. The bashfulness of his nature 
made his wit and eloquence useless in debate. He once 
rose, but could not overcome his diffidence, and ever after 
remained silent. Nobody can think it strange that a great 
writer should fail as a speaker. But many, probably, will 
think it strange that Addison's failure as a speaker should 
have had no unfavorable effect on his success as a politician. 
In our time, a man of high rank and great fortune might, 
though speaking very little and very ill, hold a considera- 



254 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

ble post. But it would now be inconceivable that a mere 
adventurer, a man who, when out of office, must live by his 
pen, should in a few years become successively Under-secre- 
tary of State, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and Secretary of 
State, without some oratorical talent. Addison, without 
high birth, and with little property, rose to a post which 
dukes, the heads of the great houses of Talbot, Russell, and 
Bentinck have thought it an honor to fill. Without open- 
ing his lips in debate, he rose to a post the highest that 
Chatham or Fox ever reached. And this he did before he 
had been nine years in Parliament. We must look for the 
explanation of this seeming miracle to the peculiar circum- 
stances in which that generation was placed. During the 
interval which elapsed between the time when the censor- 
ship of the Press ceased, and the time when parliamentary 
proceedings began to be freely reported, literary talents 
were, to a public man, of much more importance, and 
oratorical talents of much less importance, than in our 
time. At present, the best way of giving rapid and wide 
publicity to a fact or an argument is to introduce that 
fact or argument into a speech made in Parliament. If a 
political tract were to appear superior to the Conduct of the 
Allies, or to the best numbers of The Freeholder, the circu- 
lation of such a tract would be languid indeed when com- 
pared with the circulation of every remarkable word uttered 
in the deliberations of the legislature. A speech made in 
the House of Commons at four in the morning is on thirty 
thousand tables before ten. A speech made on the Monday 
is read on the Wednesday by multitudes in Antrim and 
Aberdeenshire. The orator, by the help of the shorthand 
writer, has to a great extent superseded the pamphleteer. 
It was not so in the reign of Anne. The best speech 
could then produce no effect except on those who heard it. 
It was only by means of the press that the opinion of the 
public without doors could be influenced ; and the opinion 



• Macaulaifs Essay on Addison. 255 

of the public without doors could not but be of the highest 
importance in a country governed by parliaments, and in- 
deed at that time governed by triennial parliaments. The 
pen was, therefore, a more formidable political engine than 
the tongue. When these things are duly considered, it will 
not be thought strange that Addison should have climbed 
higher in the State than any other Englishman has ever, 
by means merely of literary talents, been able to climb. 
Swift would, in all probability, have climbed as high, if he 
had not been encumbered by his cassock and his pudding 
sleeves. As far as the homage of the great went. Swift had 
as much of it as if he had been Lord Treasurer. 

To the influence which Addison derived from his literary 
talents was added all the influence which arises from char- 
acter. The world, always ready to think the worst of 
needy political adventurers, was forced to make one excep- 
tion. Eestlessness, violence, audacity, laxity of principle, 
are the vices ordinarily attributed to that class of men. 
But faction itself could not deny that Addison had, through 
all changes of fortune, been strictly faithful to his early 
opinions and to his early friends ; that his integrity was 
without stain ; that his whole deportment indicated a fine 
sense of the becoming ; that, in the utmost heat of contro- 
versy, his zeal was tempered by a regard for truth, human- 
ity, and social decorum ; that no outrage could ever provoke 
him to retaliation unworthy of a Christian and a gentle^ 
man ; and that his only faults were a too sensitive delicacy, 
and a modesty which amounted to bashfulness. 

He was undoubtedly one of the most popular men of his 
time; and much of his popularity he owed, we believe, to 
that very timidity which his friends lamented. That timid- 
ity often prevented him from exhibiting his talents to the 
best advantage. But it propitiated Nemesis. It averted 
that envy which would otherwise have been excited by 
fame so splendid, and by so rapid an elevation. No man is 



256 Macaulay's Essay on Addi 



son. 



so great a favorite with the public as he who is at once an 
object of admiration, of respect, and of pity ; and such were 
the feelings which Addison inspired. Those who enjoyed 
the privilege of hearing his familiar conversation declared 
with one voice that it was superior even to his writings. 
The brilliant Mary Montague said that she had known all 
the wits, and that Addison was the best company in the 
world. The malignant Pope was forced to own that there 
was a charm in Addison's talk which could be found no- 
where else. Swift, when burning with animosity against 
the Whigs, could not but confess to Stella that, after all, 
he had never known any associate so agreeable as Addison. 
Steele, an excellent judge of lively conversation, said that 
the conversation of Addison was at once the most polite 
and the most mirthful that could be imagined ; that it was 
Terence and Catullus in one, heightened by an exquisite 
something which was neither Terence nor Catullus, but 
Addison alone. Young, an excellent judge of serious con- 
versation, said that when Addison was at his ease, he went 
on in a noble strain of thought and language, so as to chain 
the attention of every hearer. Nor were Addison's great 
colloquial powers more admirable than the courtesy and 
softness of heart which appeared in his conversation. At 
the same time, it would be too much to say that he was 
wholly devoid of the malice which is, perhaps, inseparable 
from a keen sense of the ludicrous. He had one habit 
which both Swift and Stella applauded, and which we hardly 
know how to blame. If his first attempts to set a pre- 
suming dunce right were ill received, he changed his tone, 
" assented with civil leer," and lured the flattered coxcomb 
deeper and deeper into absurdity. That such was his prac- 
tice we should, we think, have guessed from his works. 
The Tatler's criticisms on Mr. Softly's sonnet, and The 
Spectator's dialogue with the politician who is so zealous 
for the honor of Lady Q — p — t — s, are excellent specimens 
of this innocent mischief. 



Macaulay^s Essay on xiddison. 257 

Sucli were Addison's talents for conversation. But his 
rare gifts were not exhibited to crowds or to strangers. As 
soon as he entered a large company, as soon as he saw an 
unknown face, his lips were sealed, and his manners became 
constrained, ^one who met him only in great assemblies 
would have been able to believe that he was the same man 
who had often kept a few friends listening and laughing 
round a table, from the time when the play ended till the 
clock of St. Paul's in Covent Garden struck four. Yet, 
even at such a table, he was not seen to the best advantage. 
To enjoy his conversation in the highest perfection, it was 
necessary to be alone with him, and to hear him, in his own 
phrase, think aloud. '^ There is no such thing," he used to 
say, " as real conversation, but between two persons." 

This timidity, a timidity surely neither ungraceful nor 
unamiable, led Addison into the two most serious faults 
which can with justice be imputed to him. He found that 
wine broke the spell which lay on his line intellect, and was 
therefore too easily seduced into convivial excess. Such 
excess was in that age regarded, even by grave men, as 
the most venial of all peccadilloes, and was so far from 
being a mark of ill-breeding that it was almost essential 
to the character of a fine gentleman. But the smallest speck 
is seen on a white ground ; and almost all the biographers 
of Addison have said something about this failing. Of any 
other statesman or writer of Queen Anne's reign, we should 
no more think of saying that he sometimes took too much 
wine than that he wore a long wig and a sword. 

To the excessive modesty of Addison's nature we must 
ascribe another fault which generally arises from a very 
different cause. He became a little too fond of seeing him- 
self surrounded by a small circle of admirers, to whom he 
was as a king, or rather as a god. All these men were far 
inferior to him in ability, and some of them had very serious 
faults. Nor did those faults escape his observation ; for, if 



258 Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

ever there was an eye which saw through and through men, 
it was the eye of Addison. But, with the keenest observa- 
tion, and the finest sense of the ridiculous, he had a large 
charity. The feeling with which he looked on most of his 
humble companions was one of benevolence, slightly tinc- 
tured with contempt. He was at perfect ease in their com- 
pany ; he was grateful for their devoted attachment ; and 
he loaded them with benefits. Their veneration for him 
appears to have exceeded that with which Johnson was 
regarded by Boswell, or Warburton by Hurd. It was not 
in the power of adulation to turn such a head, or deprave 
such a heart, as Addison's. But it must in candor be ad- 
mitted that he contracted some of the faults which can 
scarcely be avoided by any person who is so unfortunate as 
to be the oracle of a small literary coterie. 

One member of this little society was Eustace Budgell, 
a young Templar of some literature, and a distant relation 
of Addison. There was at this time no stain on the char- 
acter of Budgell, and it is not improbable that his career 
would have been prosperous and honorable, if the life of his 
cousin had been prolonged. But when the master was laid 
in the grave, the disciple broke loose from all restraint, 
descended rapidly from one degree of vice and misery to 
another, ruined his fortune by follies, attempted to repair it 
by crimes, and at length closed a wicked and unhappy life 
by self-murder. Yet, to the last, the wretched man, gam- 
bler, lampooner, cheat, forger, as he was, retained his affec- 
tion and veneration for Addison, and recorded those feelings 
in the last lines which he traced before he hid himself from 
infamy under London Bridge. 

Another of Addison's favorite companions was Ambrose 
Philips, a good Whig and a middling poet, who had the 
honor of bringing into fashion a species of composition 
which has been called, after his name, Namby Pambj'-. But 
the most remarkable members of the little senate, as Pope 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 259 

long afterward called it, were Eichard Steele and Thomas 
Tickell. 

Steele had known Addison from childhood. They had 
been together at the Charter House and at Oxford ; but cir- 
cumstances had then, for a time, separated them widely. 
Steele had left college without taking a degree, had been 
disinherited by a rich relation, had led a vagrant life, had 
served in the army, had tried to find the philosopher's stone, 
and had written a religious treatise and several comedies. 
He was one of those people whom it is impossible either to 
hate or to respect. His temper was sweet, his affections 
warm, his spirits lively, his passions strong, and his prin- 
ciples weak. His life was spent in sinning and repenting ; 
in inculcating what was right, and doing what was wrong. 
In speculation, he was a man of piety and honor ; in prac- 
tice, he was much of the rake and a little of the swindler. 
He was, however, so good-natured that it was not easy to 
be seriously angry with him, and that even rigid moralists 
felt more inclined to pity than to blame him, when he diced 
himself into a spunging house or drank himself into a fever. 
Addison regarded Steele with kindness not unmingled with 
scorn, tried, with little success, to keep him out of scrapes, 
introduced him to the great, procured a good place for him, 
corrected his plays, and, though b}^ no means rich, lent him 
large sums of money. One of these loans appears, from a 
letter dated in August, 1708, to have amounted to a thou- 
sand pounds. These pecuniary transactions probably led 
to frequent bickerings. It is said that, on one occasion, 
Steele's negligence, or dishonesty, provoked Addison to 
repay himself by the help of a bailiff. We cannot join with 
Miss Aikin in rejecting this story. Johnson heard it from 
Savage, who heard it from Steele. Few private transactions 
which took place a hundred and twenty years ago are proved 
by stronger evidence than this. But we can by no means 
agree with those who condemn Addison's severity. The 



260 Macaulay^ s Essay on Addison. 

most amiable of mankind may well be moved to indigna- 
tion, when what he has earned hardly, and lent with great 
inconvenience to himself, for the purpose of relieving a 
friend in distress, is squandered with insane profusion. 
The real history, we have little doubt, was something like 
this : A letter comes to Addison, imploring help in pathetic 
terms, and promising reformation and speedy repayment. 
Poor Dick declares that he has not an inch of candle, or a 
bushel of coals, or credit with the butcher for a shoulder of 
mutton. Addison is moved. He determines to deny him- 
self some medals which are wanting to his series of the 
Twelve Caesars ; to put off buying the new edition of 
Bayle's Dictionary ; and to wear his old sword and buckles 
another year. In this way he manages to send a hundred 
pounds to his friend. The next day he calls on Steele, and 
finds scores of gentlemen and ladies assembled. The fiddles 
are playing. The table is groaning under champagne, bur- 
gundy, and pyramids of sweetmeats. Is it strange that a 
man whose kindness is thus abused should send sheriff's 
officers to reclaim what is due to him ? 

Tickell was a young man, fresh from Oxford, who had 
introduced himself to public notice by writing a most in- 
genious and graceful little poem in praise of the opera of 
Eosamond. He deserved, and at length attained, the first 
place in Addison's friendship. For a time Steele and Tick- 
ell were on good terms. But they loved Addison too much 
to love each other, and at length became as bitter enemies 
as the rival bulls in Virgil. 

At the close of 1708, Wharton became Lord Lieutenant 
of Ireland, and appointed Addison Chief Secretary. Addi- 
son was consequently under the necessity of quitting Lon- 
don for Dublin. Besides the chief secretaryship, which 
was then worth about two thousand pounds a 3^ear, he ob- 
tained a patent appointing him keeper of the Irish Eecords 
for life, with a salary of three or four hundred a year. 



Macaidau's E>^mi/ on Addiso7i. 261 

Budgell accompanied his cousin in the capacity of private 
secretary. 

Wharton and Addison had nothing in common but AYhig- 
gism. The Lord Lieutenant was not only licentious and 
corrupt, but was distinguished from other libertines and 
jobbers by a callous impudence which presented the strong- 
est contrast to the Secretarj^'s gentleness and delicacy. 
Many parts of the Irish administration at this time appear 
to have deserved serious blame. But against Addison there 
was not a murmur. He long afterward asserted, what all 
the evidence which we have ever seen tends to prove, that 
his diligence and integrity gained the friendship of all the 
most considerable persons in Ireland. 

The parliamentary career of Addison in Ireland has, we 
think, wholly escaped the notice of all his biographers. He 
was elected member for the borough of Cavan in the sum- 
mer of 1709; and in the journals of two sessions his name 
frequently occurs. Some of the entries appear to indicate 
that he so far overcame his timidity as to make speeches. 
Nor is this by any means improbable ; for the Irish House 
of Commons was a far less formidable audience than the 
English House ; and many tongues which were tied by 
fear in the greater assembly became fluent in the smaller. 
Gerard Hamilton, for example, who, from fear of losing 
the fame gained by his single speech, sat mute at Westmin- 
ster during forty years, spoke with great effect at Dublin 
when he was secretary to Lord Halifax. 

AVhile Addison Avas in Ireland, an event occurred to 
which he owes his high and permanent rank among British 
writers. As yet his fame rested on performances which, 
though highly respectable, were not built for duration, and 
which would, if he had produced nothing else, have now 
been almost forgotten, on some excellent Latin verses, on 
some English verses which occasionally rose above medi- 
ocrity, and on a book of travels, agreeably written, but not 



262 Macaulay' s Essay on Addison, 

indicating any extraordinary powers of mind. These works 
showed him to be a man of taste, sense, and learning. The 
time had come when he was to prove himself a man of 
genius, and to enrich our literature with com^DOsitions which 
will live as long as the English language. 

In the spring of 1709, Steele formed a literary project, of 
which he was far indeed from foreseeing the consequences. 
Periodical papers had during many years been published in 
London. Most of these were political; but in some of 
them questions of morality, taste, and love casuistry had 
been discussed. The literary merit of these works was 
small indeed ; and even their names are now known only 
to the curious. 

Steele had been appointed gazetteer by Sunderland, at 
the request, it is said, of Addison, and thus had access to 
foreign intelligence earlier and more authentic than was in 
those times within the reach of an ordinary news-writer. 
This circumstance seems to have suggested to him the 
scheme of publishing a periodical paper on a new plan. It 
was to appear on the days on which the post left London 
for the country, which were, in that generation, the Tues- 
days, Thursdays, and Saturdays. It was to contain the 
foreign news, accounts of theatrical representations, and 
the literary gossip of Will's and of the Grecian. It was 
also to contain remarks on the fashionable topics of the 
day, compliments to beauties, pasquinades on noted sharp- 
ers, and criticisms on popular preachers. The aim of Steele 
does not appear to have been at first higher than this. He 
was not ill qualified to conduct the work which he had 
planned. His public intelligence he drew from the best 
sources. He knew the town, and had paid dear for his 
knowledge. He had read much more than the dissipated 
men of that time were in the habit of reading. He was a 
rake among scholars, and a scholar among rakes. His style 
was easy and not incorrect, and, though his wit and humor 



Macaulay'8 Essay on Addison, 263 

were of no high order, his gay animal spirits imparted to 
his compositions an air of vivacity which ordinary readers 
could hardly distinguish from comic genius. His writings 
have been well compared to those light wines which, though 
deficient in body and flavor, are yet a pleasant small drink, 
if not kept too long or carried too far. 

Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, Astrologer, was an imaginary 
person, almost as well known in that age as Mr. Paul Pry 
or Mr. Samuel Pickwick in ours. Swift had assumed the 
name of Bickerstaff in a satirical pamphlet against Par- 
tridge, the maker of almanacs. Partridge had been fool 
enough to publish a furious reply. Bickerstaff had rejoined 
in a second pamphlet still more diverting than the first. 
All the wits had combined to keep up the joke, and the 
town was long in convulsions of laughter. Steele deter- 
mined to employ the name which this controversy had 
made popular; and, in April 1709, it was announced that 
Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, Astrologer, was about to publish 
a paper called The Tatler. 

Addison had not been consulted about this scheme ; but 
as soon as he heard of it, he determined to give his assist- 
ance. The effect of that assistance cannot be better de- 
scribed than in Steele's own words. "I fared,'' he said, 
'' like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful neighbor 
to his aid. I was undone by my auxiliary. When I had 
once called him in, I could not subsist without dependence 
on him." " The paper," he says elsewhere, " was advanced 
indeed. It was raised to a greater thing than I intended 
it." 

It is probable that Addison, when he sent across St. 
George's Channel his first contributions to The Tatler, had 
no notion of the extent and variety of his own powers. He 
was the possessor of a vast mine, rich with a hundred ores. 
But he had been acquainted only with the least precious 
part of his treasures, and had hitherto contented himself 



264 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

with producing sometimes copper and sometimes lead, in- 
termingled with a little silver. All at once, and by mere 
accident, he had lighted on an inexhaustible vein of the 
finest gold. 

The mere choice and arrangement of his words would 
have sufficed to make his essays classical. For never, not 
even by Dryden, not even by Temple, had the English lan- 
guage been written with such sweetness, grace, and facility. 
But this Avas the smallest part of Addison's praise. Had 
he clothed his thoughts in the half French style of Horace 
Walpole, or in the half Latin style of Dr. Johnson, or in 
the half German jargon of the present day, his genius 
would have triumphed over all faults of manner. As a 
moral satirist he stands unrivalled. If ever the best Tat- 
lers and Spectators were equalled in their own kind, we 
should be inclined to guess that it must have been by the 
lost comedies of Menander. 

In wit, properly so called, Addison was not inferior to 
Cowley or Butler. ISCo single ode of Cowley contains so 
many happy analogies as are crowded into the lines to Sir 
Godfrey Kneller ; and we would undertake to collect from 
the Spectators as great a number of ingenious illustrations 
as can be found in Hudibras. The still higher faculty of 
invention Addison possessed in still larger measure. The 
numerous fictions, generally original, often wild and gro- 
tesque, but always singularly graceful and happy, which are 
found in his essays, fully entitle him to the rank of a great 
poet, a rank to which his metrical compositions give him no 
claim. As an observer of life, of manners, of all the shades 
of human character, he stands in the first class. And what 
he observed he had the art of communicating in two widely 
different ways. He could describe virtues, vices, habits, 
whims, as well as Clarendon. But he could do something 
better. He could call human beings into existence, and 
make them exhibit themselves. If we wish to find any- 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 265 

thing more vivid than Addison's best portraits, we must go 
either to Shakespeare or to Cervantes. 

But what shall we say of Addison's humor, of his sense 
of the ludicrous, of his power of awakening that sense in 
others, and of drawing mirth from incidents which occur 
every day, and from little peculiarities of temper and man- 
ner, such as may be found in every man ? We feel the 
charm ; we give ourselves up to it ; but we strive in vain to 
analyze it. 

Perhaps the best way of describing Addison's peculiar 
pleasantry is to compare it with the pleasantry of some 
other great satirists. The three most eminent masters of 
the art of ridicule, during the eighteenth century, were, we 
conceive, Addison, Swift, and Voltaire. Which of the three 
had the greatest power of moving laughter may be ques- 
tioned. But each of them, within his own domain, was 
supreme. 

Voltaire is the prince of buffoons. His merriment is 
without disguise or restraint. He gambols ; he grins ; he 
shakes his sides ; he points the finger ; he turns up the 
nose ; he shoots out the tongue. The manner of Swift is 
the very opposite to this. He moves laughter, but never 
joins in it. He appears in his works such as he appeared 
in society. All the company are convulsed with merriment, 
while the dean, the author of all the mirth, preserves an in- 
vincible gravity, and even sourness of aspect, and gives 
utterance to the most eccentric and ludicrous fancies, with 
the air of a man reading the commination service. 

The manner of Addison is as remote from that of Swift 
as from that of Voltaire. He neither laughs out like the 
French wit, nor, like the Irish wit, throws a double portion 
of severity into his countenance while laughing inwardly; 
but preserves a look peculiarly his own, a look of demure 
serenity, disturbed only by an arch sparkle of the eye, an 
almost imperceptible elevation of the brow, an almost im- 



266 Macaulay'' s Essay on Addison. 

perceptible curl of the lip. His tone is never that either 
of a Jack Pudding or of a Cynic. It is that of a gentleman, 
in whom the quickest sense of the ridiculous is constantly 
tempered by good nature and good breeding. 

We own that the humor of Addison is, in our opinion, of 
a more delicious flavor than the humor of either Swift or 
Voltaire. Thus much, at least, is certain, that both Swift 
and Voltaire have been successfully mimicked, and that no 
man has yet been able to mimic Addison. 

But that which chiefly distinguishes Addison from Swift, 
from Voltaire, from almost all the other great masters of 
ridicule, is the grace, the nobleness, the moral purity, which 
we find even in his merriment. Severity, gradually har- 
dening and darkening into misanthropy, characterizes the 
works of Swift. The nature of Voltaire was, indeed, not 
inhuman ; but he venerated nothing. Neither in the mas- 
terpieces of art nor in the purest examples of virtue, neither 
in the Great First Cause nor in the awful enigma of the 
grave, could he see anything but subjects for drollery. 
Nothing great, nothing amiable, no moral duty, no doctrine 
of natural or revealed religion, has ever been associated by 
Addison with any degrading idea. His humanity is with- 
out a parallel in literary history. The highest proof of 
virtue is to possess boundless power without abusing it. 
No kind of power is more formidable than the power of 
making men ridiculous ; and that power Addison possessed 
in boundless measure. How grossly that power was abused 
by Swift and by Voltaire is well known. But of Addison 
it ma}^ be confidently afiirmed that he has blackened no 
man's character, nay, that it would be difficult, if not impos- 
sible, to find in all the volumes which he has left us a 
single taunt which can be called ungenerous or unkind. 
Yet he had detractors, whose malignity might have seemed 
to justify as terrible a revenge as that which men, not 
superior to him in genius, wreaked on Bettesworth and on 



Macaidaif s Essay on Addison. 267 

Franc de Pompignan. He was a politician; he was the 
best writer of his party ; he lived in times of fierce excite- 
ment, in times when persons of high character and station 
stooped to scurrility such as is now practised only by the 
basest of mankind. Yet no provocation and no example 
could induce him to return railinsr for railinsr. 

Of the service which his essays rendered to morality it is 
difficult to speak too highly. It is true that, when The Tatler 
appeared, that age of outrageous profaneness and licentious- 
ness which followed the Eestoration had passed away. Jer- 
emy Collier had shamed the theatres into something which, 
compared with the excesses of Etherege and Wycherley, 
niiglit be called decency. Yet there still lingered in the pub- 
lic mind a pernicious notion that there was some connection 
between genius and profligacy, between the domestic vir- 
tues and the sullen formality of the Puritans. That error it 
is the glory of Addison to have dispelled. He taught the 
nation that the faith and the morality of Hale and Tillotson 
might be found in company with wit more sparkling than 
the wit of Congreve, and with humor richer than the 
humor of Vanbrugh. So effectually, indeed, did he retort 
on vice the mockery which had recently been directed 
against virtue, that, since his time, the open violation of 
decency has always been considered among us as the mark 
of a fool. And this revolution, the greatest and most salu- 
tary ever effected by any satirist, he accomplished, be it 
remembered, without writing one personal lampoon. 

In the early contributions of Addison to The Tatler 
his peculiar powers were not fully exhibited. Yet, from 
the first, his superiority to all his coadjutors was evi- 
dent. Some of his later Tatlers are fully equal to any- 
thing that he ever wrote. Among the portraits, we most 
admire Tom Folio, Ned Softly, and the Political Uphol- 
sterer. The Proceedings of the Court of Honor, the Ther- 
mometer of Zeal, the Story of the Frozen Words, the Memoirs 



268 Macaulay' s Essay on Addison. 

of the Shilling, are excellent specimens of that ingenious 
and lively species of fiction in which Addison excelled all 
men. There is one still better paper, of the same class. 
But though that paper, a hundred and thirty-three years 
ago, was probably thought as edifying as one of Smalridge's 
sermons, we dare not indicate it to the squeamish readers 
of the nineteenth century. 

During the session of Parliament which commenced in 
November, 1709, and which the impeachment of Sachev- 
erell has made memorable, Addison appears to have resided 
in London. The Tatler was now more popular than any 
periodical paper had ever been ; and his connection with it 
was generally known. It was not known, however, that 
almost everything good in The Tatler was his. The truth 
is, that the fifty or sixty numbers which we owe to him 
were not merely the best, but so decidedly the best that any 
five of them are more valuable than all the two hundred 
numbers in which he had no share. 

He required, at this time, all the solace which he could 
derive from literary success. The queen had always dis- 
liked the Whigs. She had during some years disliked the 
Marlborough family. But, reigning by a disputed title, she 
could not venture directly to oppose herself to a majority 
of both Houses of Parliament ; and, engaged as she was in 
a war on the event of which her own crown was staked, she 
could not venture to disgrace a great and successful general. 
But at length, in the year 1710, the causes which had 
restrained her from showing her aversion to the Low Church 
party ceased to operate. The trial of Sacheverell produced 
an outbreak of public feeling scarcely less violent than the 
outbreaks which we can ourselves remember in 1820 and in 
1831. The country gentlemen, the country clergymen, the 
rabble of the towns, were all, for once, on the same side. 
It was clear that, if a general election took place before the 
excitement abated, the Tories would have a majority. The 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 269 

services of Marlborough had been so splendid that they were 
no longer necessary. The queen's throne was secure from all 
attack on the part of Lewis. Indeed, it seemed much more 
likely that the English and German armies would divide 
the spoils of Versailles and Marli than that a marshal of 
France would bring back the Pretender to St. James's. 
The queen, acting by the advice of Harley, determined to 
dismiss her servants. In June the change commenced. 
Sunderland was the first who fell. The Tories exulted over 
his fall. The Whigs tried, during a few weeks, to persuade 
themselves that her majesty had acted only from personal 
dislike to the secretary, and that she meditated no further 
alteration. But, early in August, Godolphin was surprised 
by a letter from Anne, which directed him to break his 
white staff. Even after this event, the irresolution or dis- 
simulation of Harley kept up the hopes of the Whigs dur- 
ing another month ; and then the ruin became rapid and 
violent. The Parliament was dissolved. The ministers 
were turned out. The Tories were called to office. The 
tide of popularity ran violently in favor of the High Church 
party. That party, feeble in the late House of Commons, 
was now irresistible. The power which the Tories had thus 
suddenly acquired, they used with blind and stupid ferocity. 
None of the Whigs suffered more in the general wreck 
than Addison. He had just sustained some heavy pecun- 
iary losses, of the nature of which we are imperfectly 
informed, when his secretaryship was taken from him. 
He had reason to believe that he should also be deprived 
of the small Irish office which he held by patent. He had 
just resigned his fellowship. It seems probable that he had 
already ventured to raise his eyes to a great lady, and that, 
while his political friends were in power, and while his own 
fortunes were rising, he had been, in the phrase of the 
romances which were then fashionable, permitted to hope. 
But Mr. Addison the ingenious writer and Mr. Addison th« 



270 Maeaulay's Essay on Addison. 

chief secretary were, in her ladyship's opinion, two very 
different persons. All these calamities united, however, 
could not disturb the serene cheerfulness of a mind con- 
scious of innocence, and rich in its own wealth. He told 
his friends, with smiling resignation, that they ought to 
admire his philosophy ; that he had lost at once his for- 
tune, his place, his fellowship, and his mistress; that he 
must think of turning tutor again, and yet that his spirits 
were as good as ever. 

He had one consolation. Of the unpopularity which his 
friends had incurred, he had no share. Such was the 
esteem with which he was regarded, that, while the most 
violent measures were taken for the purpose of forcing 
Tory members on Whig corporations, he was returned to 
Parliament without even a contest. 

The only use which Addison appears to have made of the 
favor with which he was regarded by the Tories was to save 
some of his friends from the general ruin of the Whig 
party. He felt himself to be in a situation which made it 
his duty to take a decided part in politics. But the case of 
Steele and of Ambrose Philips was different. For Philips, 
Addison even condescended to solicit, with what success 
we have not ascertained. Steele held two places. He was 
gazetteer, and he was also a commissioner of stamps. The 
Gazette was taken from him. But he was suffered to retain 
his place in the Stamp Office, on an implied understanding 
that he should not be active against the new Government ; 
and he was, during more than two years, induced by Addi- 
son to observe this armistice with tolerable fidelity. 

Isaac Bickerstaff accordingly became silent upon politics, 
and the article of news, which had once formed about one- 
third of his paper, altogether disappeared. The Tatler had 
completely changed its character. It was now nothing but 
a series of essays on books, morals, and manners. Steele 
therefore resolved to bring it to a close, and to commence a 



Macaulay^s Essay on xiddison. 271 

new work on an improved plan. It was announced that 
this new work would be published daily. The undertaking 
was generally regarded as bold, or rather rash ; but the 
event amply justified the confidence with which Steele 
relied on the fertility of Addison's genius. On the 2d of 
January, 1711, appeared the last Tatler. At the beginning 
of March following appeared the first of an incomparable 
series of papers, containing observations on life and litera- 
ture by an imaginary Spectator. 

The Spectator himself was conceived and drawn by Addi- 
son ; and it is not easy to doubt that the portrait was meant 
to be in some features a likeness of the painter. The Spec- 
tator is a gentleman who, after passing a studious youth 
at the university, has travelled on classic ground, and has 
bestowed much attention on curious points of antiquity. 
He has, on his return, fixed his residence in London, and 
has observed all the forms of life which are to be found 
in that great city, has daily listened to the wits of Will's, 
has smoked with the philosophers of the Grecian, and has 
mingled with the parsons at Child's, and with the poli- 
ticians at the St. James's. In the morning, he often listens 
to the hum of the Exchange ; in the evening, his face is 
constantly to be seen in the pit of Drury Lane Theatre. 
But an insurmountable bashfulness prevents him from 
opening his mouth, except in a small circle of intimate 
friends. 

These friends were first sketched by Steele. Four of the 
club, the templar, the clergyman, the soldier, and the mer- 
chant, were uninteresting figures, fit only for a background. 
But the other two, an old country baronet and an old town 
rake, though not delineated with a very delicate pencil, had 
some good strokes. Addison took the rude outlines into 
his own hands, retouched them, colored them, and is in 
truth the creator of the Sir Eoger de Coverley and the Will 
Honeycomb with whom we are all familiar. 



272 Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

The plan of The Spectator must be allowed to be both 
original and eminently happy. Every valuable essay in the 
series may be read with pleasure separately ; yet the five or 
six hundred essays form a whole, and a whole which has 
the interest of a novel. It must be remembered, too, that 
at that time no novel giving a lively and powerful picture 
of the common life and manners of England had appeared. 
Kichardson was working as a compositor. Fielding was 
robbing birds' nests. Smollett was not yet born. The 
narrative, therefore, which connects together the Specta- 
tor's essays gave to our ancestors their first taste of an 
exquisite and untried pleasure. That narrative was indeed 
constructed with no art or labor. The events were such 
events as occur every day. Sir Roger comes up to town 
to see Eugenio, as the worthy baronet always calls Prince 
Eugene, goes with the Spectator on the water to Spring 
Gardens, walks among the tombs in the Abbey, and is 
frightened by the Mohawks, but conquers his apprehension 
so far as to go to the theatre when the Distressed Mother 
is acted. The Spectator pays a visit in the summer to 
Coverley Hall, is charmed with the old house, the old 
butler, and the old chaplain, eats a jack caught by Will 
Wimble, rides to the assizes, and hears a point of law 
discussed by Tom Touchy. At last a letter from the hon- 
est butler brings to the club the news that Sir Roger is 
dead. Will Honeycomb marries and reforms at sixty. The 
club breaks up ; and the Spectator resigns his functions. 
Such events can hardly be said to form a plot ; yet they are 
related with such truth, such grace, such wit, such humor, 
such pathos, such knowledge of the human heart, such 
knowledge of the ways of the world, that they charm us on 
the hundredth perusal. We have not the least doubt that 
if Addison had written a novel, on an extensive plan, it 
would have been superior to any that we possess. As it is, 
he is entitled to be considered not only as the greatest of 



Macaulay's Essay on Addiso7i. 273 

tlie English essayists, but as the forerunner of the great 
English novelists. 

We say this of Addison alone ; for Addison is the Spec- 
tator. About three sevenths of the work are his ; and it is 
no exaggeration to say that his worst essay is as good as 
the best essay of any of his coadjutors. His best essays 
approach near to absolute perfection; nor is their excel- 
lence more wonderful than their variety. His invention 
never seems to flag; nor is he ever under the necessity of 
repeating himself, or of wearing out a subject. There are 
no dregs in his wine. He regales us after the fashion of 
that prodigal nabob who held that there was only one good 
glass in a bottle. As soon as we have tasted the first 
sparkling foam of a jest, it is withdrawn, and a fresh 
draught of nectar is at our lips. On the Monday we have 
an allegory as lively and ingenious as Lucian's Auction of 
Lives ; on the Tuesday, an Eastern apologue as richly col- 
ored as the Tales of Scheherezade ; on the Wednesday, a 
character described with the skill of La Bruyere; on the 
Thursday, a scene from common life equal to the best 
chapters in the Vicar of Wakefield ; on the Friday, some 
sly Horatian pleasantry on fashionable follies, on hoops, 
patches, or puppet shows ; and on the Saturday, a religious 
meditation, which will bear a comparison with the finest 
passages in Massillon. 

It is dangerous to select where there is so much that 
deserves the highest praise. We will venture, however, to 
say that any person who wishes to form a just notion of 
the extent and variety of Addison's powers will do well to 
read at one sitting the following papers : the two Visits to 
the Abbey, the Visit to the Exchange, the Journal of the 
Retired Citizen, the Vision of Mirza, the Transmigrations of 
Pugg the Monkey, and the Death of Sir Roger de Coverley. 

The least valuable of Addison's contributions to The Spec- 
tator are, in the judgment of our age, his critical papers. 



274 Macaulay'' s Ensay on Addison. 

Yet his critical papers are always luminous, and often 
ingenious. The very worst of them must be regarded as 
creditable to him, when the character of the school in 
which he has been trained is fairly considered. The best 
of them w^ere much too good for his readers. In truth, he 
was not so far behind our generation as he was before his 
own. No essays in The Spectator were more censured and 
derided than those in which he raised his voice against the 
contempt with which our fine old ballads were regarded, and 
showed the scoffers that the same gold which, burnished 
and polished, gives lustre to the ^^neid and the Odes of 
Horace, is mingled with the rude dross of Chevy Chase. 

It is not strange that the success of The Spectator should 
have been such as no similar work has ever obtained. The 
number of copies daily distributed was at first three thou- 
sand. It subsequently increased, and had risen to near four 
thousand when the stamp tax was imposed. That tax was 
fatal to a crowd of journals. The Spectator, however, stood 
its ground, doubled its price, and, though its circulation 
fell off, still yielded a large revenue both to the State and 
to the authors. For particular papers the demand was 
immense ; of some, it is said, twenty thousand copies were 
required. But this was not all. To have The Spectator 
served up ever}'" morning with the bohea and rolls was a 
luxury for the few. The majority were content to wait till 
essays enough had appeared to form a volume. Ten thou- 
sand copies of each volume were immediately taken off, and 
new editions were called for. It must be remembered that 
the population of England was then hardly a third of what 
it now is. The number of Englishmen who were in the 
habit of reading was probably not a sixth of what it now is. 
A shopkeeper or a farmer who found any pleasure in litera- 
ture was a rarity. Nay, there was doubtless more than one 
knight of the shire whose country-seat did not contain ten 
books, receipt-books and books on farriery included. In 



Maeaulay's Essay on Addison. 275 

these circumstances, the sale of The Spectator must be con- 
sidered as indicating a popularity quite as great as that of 
the most successful works of Sir Walter Scott and Mr. 
Dickens in our own time. 

At the close of 1712 The Spectator ceased to appear. It 
was probably felt that the short-faced gentleman and his 
club had been long enough before the town ; and that it 
was time to withdraw them, and to replace them by a new 
set of characters. In a few weeks the first number of The 
Guardian was published. But The Guardian was unfortu- 
nate both in its birth and in its death. It began in dulness, 
and disappeared in a tempest of faction. The original plan 
was bad. Addison contributed nothing till sixty-six num- 
bers had appeared; and it was then impossible to make 
The Guardian what The Spectator had been. Nestor Iron- 
side and the Miss Lizards were people to whom even he 
could impart no interest. He could only furnish some 
excellent little essays, both serious and comic ; and this he 
did. 

Why Addison gave no assistance to The Guardian during 
the first two months of its existence is a question which 
has puzzled the editors and biographers, but which seems 
to us to admit of a very easy solution. He was then en- 
gaged in bringing his Cato on the stage. 

The first four acts of this drama had been lying in his 
desk since his return from Italy. His modest and sensitive 
nature shrank from the risk of a public and shameful fail- 
ure ; and, though all who saw the manuscript were loud in 
praise, some thought it possible that an audience might 
become impatient even of very good rhetoric, and advised 
Addison to print the play without hazarding a representa- 
tion. At length, after many fits of apprehension, the poet 
yielded to the urgency of his political friends, who hoped 
that the public would discover some analogy between the 
followers of Caesar and the Tories, between Sempronius and 



276 Maeaulay\ Essay on Addison. 

the apostate Whigs, between Cato, struggling to the last for 
the liberties of Eome, and the band of patriots who still 
stood firm round Halifax and Wharton. 

Addison gave the play to the managers of Drury Lane 
Theatre, without stipulating for any advantage to himself. 
They therefore thought themselves bound to sj)are no cost 
in scenery and dresses. The decorations, it is true, would 
not have pleased the skilful eye of Mr. Macready. Juba's 
waistcoat blazed with gold lace ; Marcia's hoop was worthy 
of a duchess on the birthday ; and Cato wore a wig worth 
fifty guineas. The prologue was written by Pope, and is 
undoubtedly a dignified and sjurited composition. The part 
of the hero was excellently played by Booth. Steele under- 
took to pack a house. The boxes were in a blaze with the 
stars of the Peers in opposition. The pit was crowded with 
attentive and friendly listeners from the Inns of Court and 
the literary coffee-houses. Sir Gilbert Heathcote, Governor 
of the Bank of England, was at the head of a powerful body 
of auxiliaries from the City, warm men and true Whigs, but 
better known at Jonathan's and Garraway's than in the 
haunts of wits and critics. 

These precautions were quite superfluous. The Tories, 
as a "body, regarded Addison with no unkind feelings. Nor 
was it for their interest, professing, as they did, profound 
reverence for law and prescription, and abhorrence both of 
popular insurrection and of standing armies, to appropriate 
to themselves reflections thrown on the great military chief 
and demagogue, who, with the support of the legions and 
of the common people, subverted all the ancient institutions 
of his country. Accordingly, every shout that was raised 
by the members of the Kit Cat was echoed by the High 
Churchmen of the October ; and the curtain at length fell 
amidst thunders of unanimous applause. 

The delight and admiration of the town were described 
by The Guardian in terms which we might attribute to par- 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 277 

tiality, were it not that The Examiner, the organ of the 
ministry, held similar language. The Tories, indeed, found 
much to sneer at in the conduct of their opponents. Steele 
had on this, as on other occasions, shown more zeal than 
taste or judgment. The honest citizens who marched under 
the orders of Sir Gibby, as he was facetiously called, prob- 
ably knew better when to buy and when to sell stock than 
when to clap and when to hiss at a play, and incurred some 
ridicule by making the hypocritical Sempronius their favor- 
ite, and by giving to his insincere rants louder plaudits than 
they bestowed on the temperate eloquence of Cato. Whar- 
ton, too, who had the incredible effrontery to applaud the 
lines about flying from prosperous vice and from the power 
of impious men to a private station, did not escape the sar- 
casms of those who justly thought that he could fly from 
nothing more vicious or impious than himself. The epi- 
logue, which was written by Garth, a zealous Whig, was 
severely and not unreasonably censured as ignoble and out 
of place. But Addison was described, even by the bitterest 
Tory writers, as a gentleman of wit and virtue, in whose 
friendship many persons of both parties were hai)py, and 
whose name ought not to be mixed up with factious 
squabbles. 

Of the jests by which the triumph of the Whig party was 
disturbed, the most severe and happy was Bolingbroke's. 
Between two acts, he sent for Booth to his box, and pre- 
sented him, before the whole theatre, with a purse of fifty 
guineas for defending the cause of liberty so well against 
a perpetual dictator. This was a pungent allusion to the 
attempt which Marlborough had made, not long before his 
fall, to obtain a patent creating him Captain General for 
life. 

It was April ; and in April, a hundred and thirty years 
ago, the London season was thought to be far advanced. 
During a whole month, however, Cato was performed to 



278 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

overflowing houses, and brought into the treasury of the 
theatre twice the gains of an ordinary spring. In the sum- 
mer the Drury Lane company went down to the Act at 
Oxford, and there, before an audience which retained an 
affectionate remembrance of Addison's accomplishments 
and virtues, his tragedy was acted during several days. 
The gownsmen began to besiege the theatre in the forenoon, 
and by one in the afternoon all the seats were filled. 

About the merits of the piece which had so extraordinary 
an effect, the public, we suppose, has made up its mind. 
To compare it with the masterpieces of the Attic stage, 
with the great English dramas of the time of Elizabeth, 
or even with the productions of Schiller's manhood, would 
be absurd indeed. Yet it contains excellent dialogue and 
declamation J and, among plays fashioned on the French 
model, must be allowed to rank high; not, indeed, with 
Athalie or Saul ; but, we think, not below Cinna, and cer- 
tainly above any other English tragedy of the same school, 
above many of the plays of Corneille, above many of the 
plays of Voltaire and Alfieri, and above some plays of 
Racine. Be this as it may, we have little doubt that Cato 
did as much as the Tatlers, Spectators, and Freeholders 
united to raise Addison's fame among his contemporaries. 

The modesty and good nature of the successful dramatist 
had tamed even the malignity of faction. But literary 
envy, it should seem, is a fiercer passion than party spirit. 
It was by a zealous Whig that the fiercest attack on the 
Whig tragedy was made. John Dennis published remarks 
on Cato, which were written with some acuteness, and with 
much coarseness and asperity. Addison neither defended 
himself nor retaliated. On many points he had an excel- 
lent defence ; and nothing would have been easier than to 
retaliate ; for Dennis had written bad odes, bad tragedies, 
bad comedies : he had, moreover, a larger share than most 
men of those infirmities and eccentricities which excite 



Macaulay*8 Essay on Addison. 279 

laughter ; and Addisou's power of turning either an absurd 
book or an absurd man into ridicule was unrivalled. Addi- 
son, however, serenely conscious of his superiority, looked 
with pity on his assailant, whose temper, naturally irritable 
and gloomy, had been soured by want, by controversy, and 
by literary failures. 

But among the young candidates for Addison's favor 
there was one distinguished by talents from the rest, and 
distinguished, we fear, not less by malignity and insincerity. 
Pope was only twenty-five. But his powers had expanded 
to their full maturity ; and his best poem, the Eape of the 
Lock, had recently been published. Of his genius, Addison 
had always expressed high admiration. But Addison had 
early discerned, what might indeed have been discerned 
by an eye less penetrating than his, that the diminutive, 
crooked, sickly boy was eager to revenge himself on society 
for the unkindness of nature. In The Spectator, the Essay 
on Criticism had been praised with cordial warmth ; but a 
gentle hint had been added that the writer of so excellent 
a poem would have done well to avoid ill-natured personali- 
ties. Pope, though evidently more galled by the censure 
than gratified by the praise, returned thanks for the admo- 
nition, and promised to profit by it. The two writers con- 
tinued to exchange civilities, counsel, and small good offices. 
Addison publicly extolled Pope's miscellaneous pieces ; and 
Pope furnished Addison with a prologue. This did not 
last long. Pope hated Dennis, whom he had injured without 
provocation. The appearance of the Eemarks on Cato gave 
the irritable poet an opportunity of venting his malice 
under the show of friendship, and such an opportunity 
could not be but welcome to a nature which was implacable 
in enmity, and which always preferred the tortuous to the 
straight path. He published, accordingly, the Narrative 
of the Frenzy of John Dennis. But Pope had mistaken 
his powers. He was a great master of invective and sar- 



280 Macaulai/s Essay on Addison. 

casm. He could dissect a character in terse and sonorous 
couplets, brilliant with antithesis ; but of dramatic talent 
he was altogether destitute. If he had written a lampoon 
on Dennis such as that on Atticus, or that on Sporus, the 
old grumbler would have been crushed. But Pope writing 
dialogue resembled — to borrow Horace's imagery and his 
own — a wolf, which instead of biting, should take to kick- 
ing, or a moukey which should try to sting. The Narrative 
is utterly contemptible. Of argument there is not even the 
show; and the jests are such as, if they were introduced 
into a farce, would call forth the hisses of the shilling gal- 
lery. Dennis raves about the drama; and the nurse thinks 
that he is calling for a dram. ''There is," he cries, "no 
peripetia in the tragedy, no change of fortune, no change at 
all." " Pi'ay, good sir, be not angry," says the old woman ; 
'' I'll fetch change." This is not exactly the pleasantry of 
Addison. 

There can be no doubt that Addison saw through this 
officious zeal, and felt himself deeply aggrieved by it. So 
foolish and spiteful a pamphlet could do him no good, and, 
if he were thought to have any hand in it, must do him 
harm. Gifted with incomparable powers of ridicule, he had 
never, even in self-defence, used those powers inhumanly 
or uncourteously ; and he was not disposed to let others 
make his fame and his interests a pretext under which they 
might commit outrages from which he had himself con- 
stantly abstained. He accordingly declared that he had no 
concern in the Narrative, that he disapproved of it, and 
that if he answered the remarks, he would answer them 
like a gentleman ; and he took care to communicate this to 
Dennis. Pope was bitterly mortified ; and to this transac- 
tion we are inclined to ascribe the hatred with which he 
ever after regarded Addison. 

In September, 1713, The Guardian ceased to appear. 
Steele had gone mad about politics. A general election 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 281 

had just taken place : he had been chosen member for 
Stockbridge ; and he fully expected to play a first part in 
Parliament. The immense success of the Tatler and 
Spectator had turned his head. He had been the editor of 
both those papers, and was not aware how entirely they 
owed their influence and popularity to the genius of his 
friend. His spirits, always violent, were now excited by 
vanity, ambition, and faction, to such a pitch that he every 
day committed some offence against good sense and good 
taste. All the discreet and moderate members of his own 
party regretted and condemned his folly. "I am in a 
thousand troubles," Addison wrote, " about poor Dick, and 
wish that his zeal for the public may not be ruinous to him- 
self. But he has sent me word that he is determined to go 
on, and that any advice I may give him in this particular 
will have no weight with him." 

Steele set up a political paper called The Englishman, 
which, as it was not supported by contributions from Addi- 
son, completely failed. By this work, by some other writ- 
ings of the same kind, and by the airs which he gave 
himself at the first meeting of the new Parliament, he made 
the Tories so angry that they determined to expel him. 
The Whigs stood by him gallantly, but were unable to save 
him. The vote of expulsion was regarded by all dispas- 
sionate men as a tyrannical exercise of the power of the 
majority. But Steele's violence and folly, though they by 
no means justified the stepS which his enemies took, had 
completely disgusted his friends; nor did he ever regain 
the place which he had held in the public estimation. 

Addison about this time conceived the desisrn of adding 
an eighth volume to The Spectator. In June, 1714, the first 
number of the new series appeared, and during about six 
months three papers were published weekly. Nothing can 
be more striking than the contrast between The English- 
man and the eighth volume of The Spectator, between 



282 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

Steele without Addison, and Addison witliout Steele. The 
Englishman is forgotten : the eighth volume of The Spec- 
tator contains, perhaps, the finest essays, both serious and 
playful, in the English language. 

Before this volume was completed, the death of Anne 
produced an entire change in the administration of public 
affairs. The blow fell suddenly. It found the Tory party 
distracted by internal feuds, and unprepared for any great 
effort. Harley had just been disgraced. Bolingbroke, it 
was supposed, would be the chief minister. But the queen 
was on her death-bed before the white staff had been given, 
and her last public act was to deliver it w^ith a feeble hand 
to the Duke of Shrewsbury. The emergency produced a 
coalition betw^een all sections of public men ^\\\o were at- 
tached to the Protestant succession. George the First w^as 
proclaimed without opposition. A council, in which the 
leading AVhigs had seats, took the direction of affairs till 
the new king should arrive. The first act of the lords 
justices was to appoint Addison their secretary. 

There is an idle tradition that he was directed to prepare 
a letter to the king, that he could not satisfy himself as to 
the style of this composition, and that the lords justices 
called in a clerk who at once did w^hat w^as wanted. It is 
not strange that a story so flattering to mediocrity should 
be popular; and w^e are sorry to deprive dunces of their 
consolation. But the truth must be told. It was well ob- 
served by Sir James Mackintosh, whose knowledge of these 
times w^as unequalled, that Addison never, in any official 
document, affected wit or eloquence, and that his despatches 
are, without exception, remarkable for unpretending sim- 
plicity. Everybody who knows with what ease Addison's 
finest essays were produced must be convinced that, if well 
turned phrases had been wanted, he would have had no 
difficulty in finding them. We are, however, inclined to 
believe that the story is not absolutely without a founda- 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 283 

tion. It may well be that Addison did not know, till he 
had consulted experienced clerks who remembered the 
times when William the Third was absent on the Conti- 
nent, in what form a letter from the Council of Eegency to 
the king ought to be drawn. We think it very likely 
that the ablest statesmen of our time, Lord John Eussell, 
Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston, for example, would, in 
similar circumstances, be found quite as ignorant. Every 
office has some little mysteries which the dullest man may 
learn with a little attention, and which the greatest man 
cannot possibly know by intuition. One paper must be 
signed by the chief of the department; another by his 
deputy; to a third the royal sign-manual is necessary. 
One communication is to be registered, and another is not. 
One sentence must be in black ink, and another in red ink. 
If the ablest Secretary for Ireland were moved to the India 
Board, if the ablest President of the India Board were 
moved to the War Office, he would require instruction on 
points like these ; and we do not doubt that Addison re- 
quired such instruction when he became, for the first time, 
secretary to the lords justices. 

George the First took possession of his kingdom without 
opposition. A new ministry was formed, and a new Parlia- 
ment favorable to the Whigs chosen. Sunderland was ap- 
pointed lord-lieutenant of Ireland ; and Addison again went 
to Dublin as chief secretary. 

Those associates of Addison whose political opinions 
agreed with his shared his good fortune. He took Tickell 
with him to Ireland. He procured for Budgell a lucrative 
place in the same kingdom. Ambrose Philips was provided 
for in England. Steele had injured himself so much by his 
eccentricity and perverseness that he obtained but a very 
small part of what he thought his due. He was, however, 
knighted ; he had a place in the household ; and he subse- 
quently received other marks of favor from the court. 



284 Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

Addison did not remain long in Ireland. In 1715 he 
quitted his secretaryship for a seat at the Board of Trade. 
In the same year his comedy of The Drummer was brought 
on the stage. The name of the author was not announced ; 
the piece was coldly received ; and some critics have ex- 
pressed a doubt whether it were really Addison's. To us 
the evidence, both external and internal, seems decisive. It 
is not in Addison's best manner ; but it contains numerous 
passages which no other writer known to us could have 
produced. It was again performed after Addison's death, 
and, being known to be his, was loudly applauded. 

Toward the close of the year 1715, while the rebellion 
was still raging in Scotland, Addison published the first 
number of a paper called The Freeholder. Among his 
political works The Freeholder is entitled to the first place. 
Even in The Spectator there are few serious papers nobler 
than the character of his friend Lord Somers, and certainly 
no satirical papers superior to those in which the Tory fox- 
hunter is introduced. This character is the original of 
Squire Western, and is drawn with all Fielding's force, and 
with a delicacy of which Fielding was altogether destitute. 
As none of Addison's works exhibit stronger marks of his 
genius than The Freeholder, so none does more honor to 
his moral character. It is difficult to extol too highly the 
candor and humanity of a political writer whom even the 
excitement of civil war cannot hurry into unseemly violence. 
Oxford, it is well known, was then the stronghold of Tory- 
ism. The High Street had been repeatedly lined with 
bayonets in order to keep down the disaffected gownsmen ; 
and traitors pursued by the messengers of the Government 
had been concealed in the garrets of several colleges. Yet 
the admonition which, even under such circumstances, 
Addison addressed to the Unipersit}', is singularly gentle, 
respectful, and even affectionate. Indeed, he could not find 
it in his heart to deal harshly even with imaginary persons, 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 285 

His fox-hunter, though ignorant, stupid, and violent, is at 
heart a good fellow, and is at last reclaimed by the clemency 
of the king. Steele was dissatisfied with his friend's mod- 
eration, and, though he acknowledged that The Freeholder 
was excellently written, complained that the ministry played 
on a lute when it was necessary to blow the trumpet. He 
accordingly determined to execute a flourish after his own 
fashion, and tried to rouse the public spirit of the nation 
by means of a paper called The Town Talk, which is now 
as utterly forgotten as his Englishman, as his Crisis, as his 
Letter to the Bailiff of Stockbridge, as his Reader ; in short, 
as everything he wrote without the help of Addison. 

In the same year in which The Drummer was acted, and 
in which the first numbers of The Freeholder appeared, the 
estrangement of Pope and Addison became complete. Addi- 
son had from the first seen that Pope was false and malev- 
olent. Pope had discovered that Addison was jealous. 
The discovery was made in a strange manner. Pope had 
written The Rape of the Lock, in two cantos, without super- 
natural machinery. These two cantos had been loudly ap- 
plauded, and by none more loudly than by Addison. Then 
Pope thought of the Sylphs and Gnomes, Ariel, Momentilla, 
Crispissa, and Umbriel, and resolved to interweave the 
Rosicrucian mythology with the original fabric. He asked 
Addison's advice. Addison said that the poem as it stood 
was a delicious little thing, and entreated Pope not to run 
the risk of marring what was so excellent in trying to mend 
it. Pope afterward declared that this insidious counsel 
first opened his eyes to the baseness of him who gave it. 

Now there can be no doubt that Pope's plan was most 
ingenious, and that he afterward executed it with great 
skill and success. But does it necessarily follow that Addi- 
son's advice was bad ? And if Addison's advice was bad, 
does it necessarily follow that it was given from bad mo- 
tives ? If a friend were to ask us whether we would advise 



286 Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 

him to risk his all in a lottery of which the chances were 
ten to one against him, we should do our best to dissuade 
him from running such a risk. Even if he were so lucky 
as to get the thirty thousand pound prize, we should not 
admit that we had counselled him ill ; and we should cer- 
tainly think it the height of injustice in him to accuse us 
of having been actuated by malice. We think Addison's 
advice good advice. It rested on a sound principle, the 
result of long and wide experience. The general rule un- 
doubtedly is that, when a successful work of imagination 
has been produced, it should not be recast. We cannot at 
this moment call to mind a single instance in which this 
rule has been transgressed with happy effect, except the 
instance of The Rape of the Lock. Tasso recast his Jeru- 
salem. Akenside recast his Pleasures of the Imagination, 
and his Epistle to Curio. Pope himself, emboldened no 
doubt by the success with which he had expanded and re- 
modelled The Rape of the Lock, made the same experiment 
on The Dunciad. All these attempts failed. Who was to 
foresee that Pope would, once in his life, be able to do what 
he could not himself do twice, and what nobody else had 
ever done ? 

Addison's advice was good. But had it been bad, why 
should we pronounce it dishonest ? Scott tells us that one 
of his best friends predicted the failure of Waverley. 
Herder adjured Goethe not to take so unpromising a sub- 
ject as Faust. Hume tried to dissuade Robertson from 
writing the History of Charles the Fifth. Nay, Pope him- 
self was one of those who prophesied that Cato would never 
succeed on the stage, and advised Addison to print it with- 
out risking a representation. But Scott, Goethe, Robert- 
son, Addison, had the good sense and generosity to give 
their advisers credit for the best intentions. Pope's heart 
was not of the same kind with theirs. 

In 1715, while he was engaged in translating the Iliad, 



Macaulays Essay on Addison. 287 

he met Addison at a coffee house. Phillipps and Budgell 
were there ; but their sovereign got rid of them, and asked 
Pope to dine with him alone. After dinner, Addison said 
that he lay under a difficulty which he wished to explain. 
"Tickell/' he said, "translated, some time ago, the first 
book of the Iliad. I have promised to look it over and cor- 
rect it. I cannot, therefore, ask to see yours, for that 
■would be double dealing." Pope made a civil reply, and 
begged that his second book might have the advan- 
tage of Addison's revision. Addison readily agreed, looked 
over the second book, and sent it back with warm com- 
mendations. 

TickelPs version of the first book appeared soon after 
this conversation. In the preface, all rivalry was earnestly 
disclaimed. Tickell declared that he should not go on with 
the Iliad. That enterprice he should leave to powers which 
he admitted to be superior to his own. His only view, he 
said, in publishing this specimen was to bespeak the favor 
of the public to a translation of the Odyssey, in which he 
had made some progress. 

Addison, and Addison's devoted followers, pronounced 
both the versions good, but maintained that Tickell's had 
more of the original. The town gave a decided preference 
to Pope's. We do not think it worth while to settle such a 
question of precedence. Neither of the rivals can be said 
to have translated the Iliad, unless, indeed, the word trans- 
lation be used in the sense which it bears in the Midsummer 
Night's Dream. When Bottom makes his appearance with 
an ass's head instead of his own, Peter Quince exclaims, 
"Bless thee ! Bottom, bless thee ! thou art translated." In 
this sense, undoubtedly, the readers of either Pope or 
Tickell may very properly exclaim, "Bless thee, Homer! 
thou art translated indeed." 

Our readers will, we hope, agree with us in thinking that 
no man in Addison's situation could have acted more fairly 



288 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 

and kindly, both towards Pope and towards Tickell, than 
he appears to have done. But an odious suspicion had 
sprung up in the mind of Pope. He fancied, and he soon 
firmly believed, that there was a deep conspiracy against his 
fame and his fortunes. The work on which he had staked 
his reputation was to be depreciated. The subscription, on 
which rested his hopes of a competence, was to be defeated. 
With this view Addison had made a rival translation : 
Tickell had consented to father it : and the wits of Button's 
had united to puff it. 

Is there any external evidence to support this grave ac- 
cusation ? The answer is short. There is absolutely none. 

Was there any internal evidence which proved Addison 
to be the author of this version ? Was it a work which 
Tickell was incapable of producing? Surely not. Tickell 
was a fellow of a college at Oxford, and must be supposed 
to have been able to construe the Iliad; and he was a better 
versifier than his friend. We are not aware that Pope pre- 
tended to have discovered any turns of expression peculiar 
to Addison. Had such turns of expression been discovered, 
they would be sufficiently accounted for by supposing Addi- 
son to have corrected his friend's lines, as he owned that 
he had done. 

Is there anything in the character of the accused persons 
which makes the accusation probable ? We answer confi- 
dently — nothing. Tickell was long after this time de- 
scribed by Pope himself as a very fair and worthy man. 
Addison had been, during many years, before the public. 
Literary rivals, political opponents, had kept their eyes on 
him. But neither envy nor faction, in their utmost rage, 
had ever imputed to him a single deviation from the laws 
of honor and of social morality. Had he been indeed a man 
meanly jealous of fame, and capable of stooping to base and 
wicked arts for the purpose of injuring his competitors, 
would his vices have remained latent so Ions: ? He was a 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 289 

writer of tragedy : had he ever injured Rowe ? He was a 
writer of comedy: had he not done ample justice to Con- 
greve, and given valuable help to Steele ? He was a pam- 
phleteer : have not his good-nature and generosity been 
acknowledged by Swift, his rival in fame and his adversary 
in politics ? 

That Tickell should have been guilty of a villany seems 
to us highly improbable. That Addison should have been 
guilty of a villany seems to us highly improbable. But 
that these two men should have conspired together to com- 
mit a villany seems to us improbable in a tenfold degree. 
All that is known to us of their intercourse tends to prove 
that it was not the intercourse of two accomplices in crime. 
These are some of the lines in which Tickell poured forth 
his sorrow over the coffin of Addison : 

Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, 
A task well suited to thy gentle mind ? 
Oh, if sometimes thy spotless form descend, 
To me thine aid, thou guardian genius, lend. 
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms. 
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, 
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart. 
And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart ; 
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before. 
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more. 

In what words, we should like to know, did this guardian 
genius invite his pupil to join in a plan such as the editor 
of The Satirist would hardly dare to propose to the editor 
of The Age ? 

We do not accuse Pope of bringing an accusation which 
he knew to be false. We have not the smallest doubt that 
he believed it to be true ; and the evidence on which he 
believed it he found in his own bad heart. His own life 
was one long series of tricks, as mean and as malicious as 
that of which he suspected Addison and Tickell. He was 



290 Maeaiday' s Essay on Addison. 

all stiletto and mask. To injure, to insult, and to save 
himself from the consequences of injury and insult by lying 
and equivocating, was the habit of his life. He published 
a lampoon on the Duke of Chandos ; he was taxed with it, 
and he lied and equivocated. He published a lampoon on 
Aaron Hill ; he was taxed with it, and he lied and equivo- 
cated. He published a still fouler lampoon on Lady 
Mary Wortley Montague ; he was taxed with it, and he 
lied with more than usual effrontery and vehemence. 
He puffed himself, and abused his enemies under feigned 
names. He robbed himself of his own letters, and then 
raised the hue and cry after them. Besides his frauds 
of malignity, of fear, of interest, and of vanity, there 
were frauds which he seems to have committed from 
love of fraud alone. He had a habit of stratagem, a pleas- 
ure in outwitting all who came near him. Whatever his 
object might be, the indirect road to it was that which he 
preferred. For Bolingbroke Pope undoubtedly felt as 
much love and veneration as it was in his nature to feel 
for any human being. Yet Pope was scarcely dead when it 
was discovered that, from no motive except the mere love 
of artifice, he had been guilty of an act of gross perfidy to 
Bolingbroke. 

Nothing was more natural than that such a man as this 
should attribute to others that which he felt within himself. 
A plain, probable, coherent explanation is frankly given to 
him. He is certain that it is all a romance. A line of con- 
duct scrupulously fair, and even friendly, is pursued toward 
him. He is convinced that it is merely a cover for a vile 
intrigue by which he is to be disgraced and ruined. It is 
vain to ask him for proofs. He has none, and wants none, 
except those which he carries in his own bosom. 

Whether Pope's malignity at length provoked Addison to 
retaliate for the first and last time, cannot now be known 
with certainty. We have onl}^ Pope's story, which runs 



Macaulay' 8 Essay on Addison. 291 

thus. A pamphlet appeared containing some reflections 
which stung Pope to the quick. What those reflections 
were, and whether they were reflections of which he had a 
right to complain, we have now no means of deciding. The 
Earl of Warwick, a foolish and vicious lad, who regarded 
Addison with the feelings with which such lads generally 
regard their best friends, told Pope, truly or falsely, that 
this pamphlet had been written by Addison's direction. 
When we consider what a tendency stories have to grow, in 
passing even from one honest man to another honest man, 
and when we consider that to the name of honest man 
neither Pope nor the Earl of Warwick had a claim, we are 
not disposed to attach much importance to this anecdote. 

It is certain, however, that Pope was furious. He had 
already sketched the character of Atticus in prose. In his 
anger he turned this prose into the brilliant and energetic 
lines which everybody knows by heart, or ought to know 
by heart, and sent them to Addison. One charge which 
Pope has enforced with great skill is probably not without 
foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to believe, too 
fond of presiding over a circle of humble friends. Of the 
other imputations which these famous lines are intended to 
convey, scarcely one has ever been proved to be just, and 
some are certainly false. That Addison was not in the 
habit of " damning with faint praise " appears from innu- 
merable passages in his writings, and from none more than 
from those in which he mentions Pope. And it is not 
merely unjust, but ridiculous, to describe a man who made 
the fortune of almost every one of his intimate friends, as 
" so obliging that he ne'er obliged." 

That Addison felt the sting of Pope's satire keenly, we 
cannot doubt. That he was conscious of one of the weak- 
nesses with which he was reproached, is highly probable. 
But his heart, we firmly believe, acquitted him of the 
gravest part of the accusation. He acted like himself. As 



292 Macaulays Eamy on Addison. 

a satirist, lie was, at his own weapons, more than Pope's 
match ; and he would have been at no loss for topics. A 
distorted and diseased body, tenanted by a yet more dis- 
torted and diseased mind ; spite and envy thinly disguised 
by sentiments as benevolent and noble as those which Sir 
Peter Teazle admired in Mr. Joseph Surface; a feeble, 
sickly licentiousness ; an odious love of filthy and noisome 
images; these were things which a genius less powerful 
than that to which we owe The Spectator could easily have 
held up to the mirth and hatred of mankind. Addison had, 
moreover, at his command other means of vengeance which 
a bad man would not have scrupled to use. He was power- 
ful in the State. Pope was a Catholic ; and, in those times, 
a minister would have found it easy to harass the most 
innocent Catholic by innumerable petty vexations. Pope, 
near twenty years later, said that " through the lenity of 
the Government alone he could live with comfort." " Con- 
sider," he exclaimed, "the injury that a man of high rank 
and credit may do to a private person, under penal laws 
and many other disadvantages." It is i^leasing to reflect 
that the only revenge which Addison took was to insert in 
The Freeholder a warm encomium on the translation of the 
Iliad, and to exhort all lovers of learning to put down their 
names as subscribers. There could be no doubt, he said, 
from the specimens already published, that the masterly 
hand of Pope would do as much for Homer as Dryden had 
done for Virgil. From that time to the end of his life, he 
always treated Pope, by Pope's own acknowledgment, 
with justice. Friendship was, of course, at an end. 

One reason which induced the Earl of Warwick to play 
the ignominious part of tale-bearer on this occasion, may 
have been his dislike of the marriage which was about to 
take place between his mother and Addison. The Countess 
Dowager, a daughter of the old and honorable family of the 
Myddletons of Chirk, a family which, in any country but 



Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 293 

ours, would be called noble, resided at Holland House. 
Addison had, during some years, occupied at Chelsea a 
small dwelling, once the abode of Nell Gwynn. Chelsea is 
now a district of London, and Holland House may be called 
a town residence. But, in the days of Anne and George 
the First, milkmaids and sportsmen wandered between 
green hedges and over fields bright with daisies, from Ken- 
sington almost to the shore of the Thames. Addison and 
Lady Warwick were country neighbors, and became inti- 
mate friends. The great wit and scholar tried to allure the 
young lord from the fashionable amusements of beating 
watchmen, breaking windows, and rolling women in hogs- 
heads down Holborn Hill, to the study of letters and the 
practice of virtue. These well meant exertions did little 
good, however, either to the disciple or to the master. 
Lord Warwick grew up a rake ; and Addison fell in love. 
The mature beauty of the countess has been celebrated by 
poets in language which, after a very large allowance has 
been made for flattery, would lead us to believe that she 
was a fine woman ; and her rank doubtless heightened her 
attractions. The courtship was long. The hopes of the 
lover appear to have risen and fallen with the fortunes of 
his party. His attachment was at length matter of such 
notoriety that, when he visited Ireland for the last time, 
Eowe addressed some consolatory verses to the Chloe of 
Holland House. It strikes us as a little strange that, in 
these verses, Addison should be called Lycidas, a name of 
singularly evil omen for a swain just about to cross St. 
George's Channel. 

At length Chloe capitulated. Addison was indeed able 
to treat with her on equal terms. He had reason to expect 
preferment even higher than that which he had attained. 
He had inherited the fortune of a brother who died Gov- 
ernor of Madras. He had purchased an estate in Warwick- 
shire, and had been welcomed to his domain in very toler- 



294 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison, 

able verse by one of the neighboring squires, the poetical 
fox-hunter, William Somerville. In August, 1716, the 
newspapers announced that Joseph Addison, Esquire, fa- 
mous for many excellent works both in verse and prose, 
had espoused the Countess Dowager of Warwick. 

He now fixed his abode at Holland House, a house which 
can boast of a greater number of inmates distinguished in 
political and literary history than any other private dwell- 
ing in England. His portrait still hangs there. The 
features are pleasing ; the complexion is remarkably fair ; 
but, in the expression, we trace rather the gentleness of 
his disposition than the force and keenness of his in- 
tellect. 

Not long after his marriage he reached the height of 
civil greatness. The Whig Government had, during some 
time, been torn by internal dissensions. Lord Townshend 
led one section of the cabinet. Lord Sunderland the other. 
At length, in the spring of 1717, Sunderland triumphed. 
Townshend retired from office, and was accompanied by 
Walpole and Cowper. Sunderland proceeded to reconstruct 
the ministry, and Addison was appointed Secretary of 
State. It is certain that the Seals were pressed upon him, 
and were at first declined by him. Men equally versed in 
official business might easily have been found ; and his 
colleagues knew that they could not expect assistance from 
him in debate. He owed his elevation to his popularity, to 
his stainless probity, and to his literary fame. 

But scarcely had Addison entered the cabinet when his 
health began to fail. From one serious attack he recovered 
in the autumn ; and his recovery was celebrated in Latin 
verses, worthy of his own pen, by Vincent Bourne, who 
was then at Trinity College, Cambridge. A relapse soon 
took place ; and, in the following spring, Addison was pre- 
vented by a severe asthma from discharging the duties of 
his post. He resigned it, and was succeeded by his friend 



Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 295 

Craggs, a young man whose natural parts, though little 
improved by cultivation, were quick and showy, whose 
graceful person and winning manners had made him gen- 
erally acceptable in society, and who, if he had lived, 
would probably have been the most formidable of all the 
rivals of Walpole. 

As yet there was no Joseph Hume. The ministers, 
therefore, were able to bestow on Addison a retiring pen- 
sion of fifteen hundred pounds a year. In what form this 
pension was given we are not told by the biographers, and 
have not time to inquire. But it is certain that Addison 
did not vacate his seat in the House of Commons. 

Kest of mind and body seemed to have re-established his 
health ; and he thanked God, with cheerful piety, for hav- 
ing set him free both from his office and from his asthma. 
Many years seemed to be before him, and he meditated 
many works, a tragedy on the death of Socrates, a transla- 
tion of the Psalms, a treatise on the evidences of Christian- 
ity. Of this last performance, a part, which we could well 
spare, has come down to us. 

But the fatal complaint soon returned, and gradually 
prevailed against all the resources of medicine. It is mel- 
ancholy to think that the last months of such a life should 
have been overclouded both by domestic and by political 
vexations. A tradition which began early, which has been 
generally received, and to which we have nothing to oppose, 
has represented his wife as an arrogant and imperious 
woman. It is said that, till his health failed him, he was 
glad to escape from the Countess Dowager and her magnifi- 
cent dining-room, blazing with the gilded devices of the 
house of Rich, to some tavern where he could enjoy a laugh, 
a talk about Virgil and Boileau, and a bottle of claret, with 
the friends of his happier days. All those friends, how- 
ever, were not left to him. Sir Richard Steele had been 
gradually estranged by various causes. He considered him- 



296 Macaulay^s Essay on Addison, 

self as one who, in evil times, had braved martyrdom for 
his political principles, and demanded, when the Whig 
party was triumphant, a large compensation for what he 
had suffered when it was militant. The Whig leaders took 
a very different view of his claims. They thought that he 
had, by his own petulance and folly, brought them as well 
as himself into trouble, and, though they did not absolutely 
neglect him, doled out favors to him with a sparing hand. 
It was natural that he should be angry with them, and 
especially angry with Addison. But what above all seems 
to have disturbed Sir Eichard was the elevation of Tickell, 
who, at thirty, was made by Addison Under-secretary of 
State ; while the editor of the Tatler and Spectator, the 
author of the Crisis, the member for Stockbridge who had 
been persecuted for firm adherence to the house of Hanover, 
was, at near fifty, forced, after many solicitations and com- 
plaints, to content himself with a share in the patent of 
Drury Lane Theatre. Steele himself says, in his celebrated 
letter to Congreve, that Addison, by his preference of Tick- 
ell, "incurred the warmest resentment of other gentlemen"; 
and everything seems to indicate that, of those resentful 
gentlemen, Steele was himself one. 

While poor Sir Richard was brooding over what he con- 
sidered as Addison's unkindness, a new cause of quarrel 
arose. The Whig party, already divided against itself, was 
rent by a new schism. The celebrated bill for limiting the 
number of peers had been brought in. The proud Duke of 
Somerset, first in rank of all the nobles whose religion per- 
mitted them to sit in Parliament, was the ostensible author 
of the measure. But it was supported, and, in truth, de- 
vised by the Prime Minister. 

Steele took part with the opposition, Addison with the 
ministers. Steele, in a paper called the Plebeian, vehe- 
mently attacked the bill. Sunderland called for help on 
Addison, and Addison obeyed the call. In a paper called 



Macaulay's Essay on Addisoyi. 297 

the Old Whig, he answered, and indeed refuted, Steele's 
arguments. In style, in wit, and in politeness, Addison 
maintained his superiority, though the Old Whig is by no 
means one of his happiest performances. 

At first both the anonymous opponents observed the laws 
of propriety. But at length Steele so far forgot himself as 
to throw an odious imputation on the morals of the chiefs of 
the administration. Addison replied with severity, but, in 
our opinion, with less severity than was due to so grave an 
offence against morality and decorum ; nor did he, in his 
just anger, forget for a moment the laws of good taste and 
good breeding. 

The merited reproof which Steele had received, though 
softened by some kind and courteous expressions, galled him 
bitterly. He replied with little force and great acrimony ; 
but no rejoinder appeared. Addison was fast hastening to 
his grave ; and had, we may well suppose, little disposition 
to prosecute a quarrel with an old friend. His complaint 
had terminated in dropsy. He bore up long and manfully. 
But at length he abandoned all hope, dismissed his physi- 
cians, and calmly prepared himself to die. 

His works he intrusted to the care of Tickell, and dedi- 
cated them a very few days before his death to Craggs, in 
a letter written with the sweet and graceful eloquence of a 
Saturday's Spectator. In this, his last composition, he 
alluded to his approaching end in words so manly, so cheer- 
ful, and so tender, that it is difficult to read them without 
tears. At the same time he earnestly recommended the 
interests of Tickell to the care of Craggs. 

Within a few hours of the time at which this dedication 
was written, Addison sent to beg Gay, who was then living 
by his wits about town, to come to Holland House. Gay 
went, and was received with great kindness. To his amaze- 
ment his forgiveness was implored by the dying man. Poor 
Gay, the most good-natured and simple of mankind, could 



298 Macaulay^s Essay 07i Addison. 

not imagine what he had to forgive. There was, however, 
some wrong, the remembrance of which weighed on Addison's 
mind, and which he declared himself anxious to repair. He 
was in a state of extreme exhaustion ; and the parting was 
doubtless a friendly one on both sides. Gay supposed that 
some plan to serve him had been in agitation at court, and 
had been frustrated by Addison's influence. Nor is this 
improbable. Gay had paid assiduous court to the royal 
family. But in the queen's days he had been the eulogist 
of Bolingbroke, and was still connected with many Tories. 
It is not strange that Addison, while heated by conflict, 
should have thought himself justified in obstructing the 
preferment of one whom he might regard as a jDolitical 
enemy. Neither is it strange that, when reviewing his 
whole life, and earnestly scrutinizing all his motives, he 
should think that he had acted an unkind and ungenerous 
part, in using his power against a distressed man of letters, 
who was as harmless and as helpless as a child. 

One inference may be drawn from this anecdote. It 
appears that Addison, on his death-bed, called himself to a 
strict account, and was not at ease till he had asked pardon 
for an injury which it was not even suspected that he had 
committed, for an injury which would have caused disquiet 
only to a very tender conscience. Is it not, then, reasonable 
to infer that, if he had really been guilty of forming a base 
conspiracy against the fame and fortunes of a rival, he would 
have expressed some remorse for so serious a crime ? But 
it is unnecessary to multiply arguments and evidence for 
the defence, when there is neither argument nor evidence 
for the accusation. 

The last moments of Addison were perfectly serene. His 
interview with his step-son is universally known. " See," 
he said, " how a Christian can die." The piety of Addison 
was, in truth, of a singularly cheerful character. The feel- 
ing which predominates in all his devotional writings is 



Macaulajj^s Essay on Addison. 299 

gratitude. God was to him the all-wise and all-powerful 
friend who had watched over his cradle with more than 
maternal tenderness ; who had listened to his cries before 
they could form themselves in prayer ; who had preserved 
his youth from the snares of vice ; who had made his cup 
run over with worldly blessings ; who had doubled the value 
of those blessings, by bestowing a thankful heart to enjoy 
them, and dear friends to partake them ; who had rebuked 
the waves of the Ligurian Gulf, had purified the autumnal 
air of the Campagna, and had restrained the avalanches of 
Mont Cenis. Of the Psalms, his favorite was that which 
represents the Euler of all things under the endearing image 
of a shepherd, whose crook guides the flock safe, through 
gloomy and desolate glens, to meadows well watered and 
rich with herbage. On that goodness to which he ascribed 
all the happiness of his life, he relied in the hour of death 
with the love which casteth out fear. He died on the 17th 
of June, 1719. He had just entered on his forty-eighth 
year. 

His body lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber, and was 
borne thence to the Abbey at dead of night. The choir 
sung a funeral hymn. Bishop Atterbury, one of those 
Tories who had loved and honored the most accomplished 
of the Whigs, met the corpse, and led the procession by 
torchlight round the shrine of Saint Edward and the graves 
of the Plantagenets, to the Chapel of Henry the Seventh. 
On the north side of that chapel, in the vault of the house 
of Albemarle, the coffin of Addison lies next to the coffin of 
Montague. Yet a few months, and the same mourners 
passed again along the same aisle. The same sad anthem 
was again chanted. The same vault was again opened, 
and the coffin of Craggs was placed close to the coffin of 
Addison. 

Many tributes were paid to the memory of Addison ; but 
one alone is now remembered. Tickell bewailed his friend 



300 Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

in an elegy which would do honor to the greatest name in 
our literature, and which unites the energy and magnifi- 
cence of Dryden to the tenderness and purity of Cowper. 
This fine poem was prefixed to a superb edition of Addi- 
son's works, which was published, in 1721, by subscription. 
The names of the subscribers proved how widely his fame 
had been spread. That his countrymen should be eager to 
possess his writings, even in a costly form, is not wonder- 
ful. But it is wonderful that, though English literature 
was then little studied on the Continent, Spanish grandees, 
Italian prelates, marshals of France, should be found in 
the list. Among the most remarkable names are those of 
the Queen of Sweden, of Prince Eugene, of the Grand Duke 
of Tuscany, of the Dukes of Parma, Modena, and Guastalla, 
of the Doge of Genoa, of the Regent Orleans, and of Car- 
dinal Dubois. We ought to add that this edition, though 
eminently beautiful, is in some important points defective ; 
nor, indeed, do we yet possess a complete collection of 
Addison's writings. 

It is strange that neither his opulent and noble widow, 
nor any of his powerful and attached friends, should have 
thought of placing even a simple tablet, inscribed with his 
name, on the walls of the Abbey. It was not till three 
generations had laughed and wept over his pages that the 
omission was supplied by the public veneration. At length, 
in our own time, his image, skilfully graven, appeared in 
Poet's Corner. It represents him, as we can conceive him, 
clad in his dressing-gown, and free from his wig, stepping 
from his parlor at Chelsea into his trim little garden, with 
the account of the Everlasting Club, or the Loves of Hilpa 
and Shalum, just finished for the next day's Spectator, in 
his hand. Such a mark of national respect was due to 
the unsullied statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to 
the master of pure English eloquence, to the consummate 
painter of life and manners. It was due, above all, to the 



Macaulai/s Essay on Addison. 301 

great satirist, who alone knew how to use ridicule without 
abusing it; who, without inflicting a wound, efeected a 
great social reform ; and who reconciled wit and virtue, 
after a long and disastrous separation, during which wit 
had been led astray by profligacy, and virtue by fanaticism. 



NOTES 



THE SELECT ESSAYS OF ADDISOK 



P. 1. I have observed, etc. Though the fictitious personage 
represented in this paper as describing himself has many striking 
points of resemblance to Joseph Addison, yet the reader must 
guard against the mistake of thinking that the Spectator is Addi- 
son. The Spectator is an imaginary person, created by Addison 
and Steele and their coadjutors. The writer of each paper, who- 
ever he may be, assumes the role of the Spectator, and speaks in 
this character, using the first person singular. Thus the modern 
journalistic plural ive stands for no one individual, but for the 
paper, as an impersonal institution. 

This imaginary Spectator is a member of an imaginary club, of 
which he is the spokesman. In this paper he is made to give an 
account of himself, and in the next to describe his fellow-members. 
One of these papers is by Addison, the other by Steele, though 
both papers appear as coming from the Spectator. The fiction that 
a plan of the work " is laid and concerted in a club " serves to add 
the interest of mystery to the undertaking, and to furnish occasion 
for descriptions of manners and humors. Of course the plan of 
the work was really laid and concerted by Addison and Steele. 
The writers who now and then aided them were men who had 
caught the spirit of the fiction, and were thus able to join the 
enterprise as partners in the work of invention and creation. 

The young reader may find cause of confusion in the fact that 
the name Spectator is given to the entire collection of papers writ- 
ten under this pseudonym, and that the several papers are also 
called Spectators. 

303 



304 Notes to the Select Essays of Addison. 

a black or a fair man. It was formerly customary to couple 
the words black and/ai> as opposites. See Shakespeare, Sonn. 147 ; 
Rom. and Jul., I., 1, 237 ; Oth. I., 3, 291, and elsewhere. See, also, 
instances of this use of Uack in Murray. 

P. 3. On the coffee-houses and the theatres of the time, the 
reader may profitably consult Social Life in the Reign of Queen 
Anne, by John Ashton. 

P. 5. Spectator No. 2, the reader will note, is by Steele. 
Other De Coverley papers by Steele are those on pp. 20, 26, 34 of 
this book. No. 116, p. 41, is by Budgell. All the while, however, 
it is the Spectator that speaks. 

Soho Square should be looked up in Hare's Walks in London. 

Lord Rochester, Sir George Etherege, and Bully Dawson 
may be looked up in the notes to Morley's edition of the Spectator. 

P. 8. humorists. The meaning of this word, as here used, may 
be inferred from the context. Consider if it is used in this sense 
at present. See the same word on p. 18. 

P. 11. the city. The expression is here used in its special 
London sense. See Murray's Dictionary, City, 5, b. See, also, 
Baedeker's London. 

P. 18. he is pleasant upon any of them. The meaning of 
" pleasant " as here used is not given in Webster, but may be 
easily inferred. Consider the noun, pleasantry. 

P. 19. This cast of mind, etc. The young reader must learn 
betimes to make his account with the peculiarities of the Addiso- 
nian syntax, and must recognize that in many points usage has 
changed since the early years of the eighteenth century. See a 
similar construction on p. 16, in the sentence beginning, " The 
truth of it is." 

P. 22. took off the dress he was in ; i.e., raised him from the 
condition of servant. 

P. 24. discovered. Do not misinterpret this word. It is no 
longer used in just this sense. 

P. 25. my twenty-first speculation may be found on p. 118. " 

P. 41. Spectator No. 116, though written by Budgell, is wholly 
in the Addisonian vein. Budgell had successfully caught the style 
of his master. Boswell reports Johnson as saying that "Addison 
wrote Budgell's papers, or at least mended them so much that he 
made them almost his own." 



Notes to the Select Essays of Addison. 305 

P. 46. I believe in general, etc. Remember, it is the Spec- 
tator, and not Addison, that is speaking. Addison chooses not to 
let the Spectator boldly disavow a belief in witchcraft. Addison's 
own disbelief in it is abundantly inferable from the spirit of this 
very paper. It becomes interesting to consider whether in 1711 
belief in witchcraft was generally entertained by educated men. 
Recall the date of the latest outbreak of the delusion in New Eng- 
land. Ascertain from any history of witchcraft, or from the article 
on this subject in the Encyclo. Brit., when the last witch-trials 
were held in England. See Knight's Popular History, Vol. V., 
p. 430. 

P. 49. a yeoman. It is impossible for an American to appre- 
ciate fully the connotations of this purely English word without 
considerable reading. Besides looking up the 'definitions in the 
dictionaries, read, also, the chapter on the Yeomen, in Boutmy's 
English Constitution. 

within the Game Act. A little reading will explain this. See, 
e.g., the last paragraph of Chap. IV., Vol. VIII., of Knight's His- 
tory, and the passage from Blackstone there quoted. 

P. 57. I remember to have read. Look up the facts about the 
ichneumon, and see if he is as disinterested an animal as Diodorus 
represents him. 

P. 59. Spectator No. 130. The authority on the Gypsies is 
George Borrow, whose books are all peculiarly interesting. In the 
introduction to his Gypsies of Spain is a short, readable account of 
the English Gypsies. 

P. 63. discovers. See note to p. 24. 

P. 64. Prince Eugene. See Knight's History, opening of Chap. 
XXV., Vol. V. 

P. 66. smutting one another. See The Deserted Village, 
line 27. 

the late Act of Parliament. This was the law against Occa- 
sional Conformity, passed in 1711. See the histories, or Encyclo. 
Brit., Vol. VIII., pp. 3.53, 354. 

the Pope's Procession. See Knight's History, Vol. V., p. 377. 

Baker's Chronicle. See article on Sir Richard Baker, in En- 
cyclo. Brit. 

P. 69. the lord who had cut off, etc. ; that martyr to good 
housewifery, etc. See Hare's Walks in London, II., 257. 



306 Notes to the Select Essays of Addison. 

the two coronation chairs. See Hare, II., 303. 

P. 70. one of our English kings without a head. See Hare, 
II., pp. 300-302. 

P. 71. ' the Committee,' a play by Sir Robert Howard, one of 
the minor comic dramatists of the Restoration. 

this distressed mother. The Distressed Mother was a play 
by Ambrose Philips, founded on Racine's tragedy of Andro- 
maque. 

the Mohocks. See Ashton's Social Life in the Reign of Queen 
Anne. 

P. 75. Vauxhall Gardens. See Hare's Walks, II., 422. 

P. 76. La Hogue. See INIacaulay's History, Chap. XVIII. 

The fifty new churches. Parliament had just voted to build 
fifty churches in the city. 

P. 80. Spectator No. 10. The Spectator commends his 
papers to sundry classes of men, and especially to w^omen. 
The vein of badinage, light and playful in manner, but serious 
in purpose, in which the Spectator discusses the affairs of women, 
was novel and piquant at the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
The reader will remember the gross ness of manners that prevailed 
during the immediately preceding period of the Restoration. Addi- 
son perceived the importance of woman's social influence as an 
auxiliary in his work of reforming the manners and morals of his 
countrymen, and aimed to make his paper as attractive to women 
as to men. The Spectator was, in fact, a family paper, and was 
read in cultivated households with curiosity and zest. In No. 4 
Steele had written, " As these (the fair sex) compose half the 
world, and are, by the just complaisance and gallantry of our 
nation, the more powerful part of our people, I shall dedicate a 
considerable share of these my speculations to their service, and 
shall lead the young through all the becoming duties of virginity, 
marriage, and widowhood. When it is a woman's day, in my 
works, I shall endeavor at a style and air suitable to their under- 
standing. When I say this, I must be understood to mean that I 
shall not lower, but exalt, the subjects I treat upon. Discourse 
for their entertainment is not to be debased, but refined." 

P. 85. For if we interpret his words in their literal mean- 
ing, etc. The allusions in this passage are to Nos. 14, 81 (see p. 
122, this volume), 18, 22, 36, 8. 



Notes to the Select Essays of Addison, 307 

P. 86. nodding places, etc. An allusion to Horace's lines, — 

Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus: 
Verum operi lougo fas est obrepere soinnuin ; 

whence Homer's nodding has become a commonplace. 

P. 89. this new imprimatur. See Knight's History, Vol. V., 
p. 394. 

P. 97. Signer Nicolini, an Italian actor and singer ; Hydaspes, 
'an'ltalian opera. Morley's note will be found interesting. 

P. 100. the famous equestrian statue. What king is meant? 

P. 106. Doggett. See Adams's Dictionary of English Litera- 
ture. 

P. 108. Mr. Rymer — that great critic. This is Thomas 
Rymer, author of the Foetlera, a work of the first importance to 
English history. He is here, however, alluded to as a critic. Read 
him up in the Encyclo. Brit., and, by all means, find Macaulay's 
characteristic allusion to him in the Essay on Boswell's Life of 
Johnson, at the end of a paragraph near the close of the essay. 

P. HI. To find the passages referred to in South's Sermons and 
in Pliny's Natural History would be literary enterprises of the first 
order. 

P. 112. Aldus and Elzevir. Do not fail to look up these 
names, the former under the family name Manutius. 

With his familiar " Harry Stephens," Tom undoubtedly refers 
to the celebrated French printer and author, Henri Estienne, who 
may be looked up in the Encyclo. Brit., under the Anglicized form 
of his name, Stephens. 

a late paper. Tatler, No. 154. 

P. 113. Ah ! Mr. Bickerstaff. The reader will note that this 
paper and the next are Tatlers, not Spectators. See note to p. 263, 
this volume. 

P. 119. Should our clergy, etc. This means, "the clergy are 
so numerous that if, as is done by lay land-holders, they could cut 
up their glebes and tithes into forty-shilling freeholds, each of 
which would entitle the holder to vote at the election of county 
members, they would command most of the (county) elections in 
England." — Arnold. 

P. 135. within the bills of mortality. See Webster's Inter- 
national Dictionary. 



308 Notes to the Select Essays of Addison. 

P. 136. the Succession to the Spanish monarchy. See 
Ploetz' Epitome of Universal History, pp. 390-393. A readable 
account of the War of the Spanish Succession may be found in 
Kitchin's History of France. 

P. 141. this was the long-expected hour of projection ; i.e., 
the hour had at length come for throwing upon the elaborately 
prepared metal in the crucible the powder of projection (see Web- 
ster), which was to turn this metal into gold. Note that this paper 
is from the Guardian, and that it is Nestor Ironside, not the Spec- 
tator, who has this adventure with the alchemist. See note to 
p. 275, this volume. But by all means look up the yv ox d projection, 
definition No. 7, in the Century Dictionaiy, and note the quota- 
tions. Chaucer, in his Canon's Yeoman's Tale, describes the frauds 
practised in his day by the men who pretended to skill in alchemy. 

P. 142. the Act of Uniformity ; the Act of Toleration ; the 
Act of Settlement. See Gardiner's Student's History of Eng- 
land, pp. 585, 650, 672. 

P. 144. The date of this paper is March 3, 1711. Bearing in 
mind this date, see Gardiner's History, p. 643, par. 18. Addison 
had, in 1706, accompanied Halifax on his mission to the electoral 
court of Hanover (see p. 252, this volume). But it must be remem- 
bered that Addison is not the Spectator. We could hardly expect 
of the Spectator that, in those extensive journeys he made in 
Europe, he should have foreseen what personages were destined to 
become great in the future. 

P. 146. the old philosopher ; Diogenes the Cynic, as reported 
both by Lucian, in his dialogue on the Sale of Lives, and by 
Diogenes Laertius. 

P. 149. Freeholder No. 22. The fifty-five numbers of the Free- 
holder were all written by Addison. Hence the entire series is 
printed in Addison's works. These papers appeared from Decem- 
ber, 171.5, to June, 1716. To understand the title and scope of the 
work, the reader should look up Freeholder, No. 1. Remember 
that here the pronoun 1 no longer means the Spectator. 

P. 150. Dyer's Letter. See Macaulay's History, Chap. XX., 
and Spectator, 43 and 127. 

P. 151. burgesses. See the dictionaries, and Fonblanque's 
How we are Governed. 

P. 158. "When I was at Grand Cairo. See Spectator, No. 
1, p. 2. 



Notes to the Select Ussai/s of Addison. 809 

P. 160. ' I see a bridge standing in the midst of the tide.' 

Xote that this " bridge " does not lead across the tide. The people 
on it move in a direction parallel to the flow of the current. 

P. 163. Homer's balance. Iliad, XXII., 208-215. By all 
means look up this most impressive passage in one or more of the 
famous translations of Homer, in Chapman, or Pope, or Cowper, 
or in the prose translation of Lang, Leaf, and Myers. 

a passage of Virgil, ^neid, XII., 725-727. Look this up, 
either in the original or in Dryden or Conington. 

those noble passages of Scripture. To be found by means 
of Cruden's Concordance, a book indispensable to English study. 

P. 164. Milton, in that beautiful description. This may be 
found by means of the Milton Concordance, or, better, by search- 
ing Paradise Lost. 

amusing. Note that this word is used in a sense now obsolete. 
Look it up. 

P. 170. Wapping. The sailor quarter of London. See Hare. 

P. 180. When I look, etc. Notice the charm which this pas- 
sage has both for the mind and for the ear. Its thought is noble, 
elevated, and serious, its language rhythmical and melodious. 
Consider by what peculiarities of arrangement this effect of rhythm, 
or measure, is produced. 

Sir Paul Rycaut. See Encyclo. Brit. 

P. 183. What do you think of Addison as an apiologist? 

P. 186. The shutting of a cardinal's mouth, etc. See Encyclo. 
Brit., article " Cardinal." 

fresh and fresh ; an intensive doubling no longer in use. We 
still use many similar expressions, — through and through, out 
and out, over and over, many and many a day, etc. 

P. 187. Zug and Bender. In 1712 the " Toggenburg War " 
was causing commotion among the cantons of Switzerland. Charles 
XII. was intriguing at Bender, in Russia, from 1709 to 1711. 

P. 188. the battle of Almanza. See Gardiner's Student's His- 
tory of England, p. 689. 

P. 195. Pasquin. See Webster's Dictionary. 

Aretine. To be looked up under his Italian name, Aretino. 

P. 196. As this week is in a manner set apart. This paper 
is dated March 27, 1711. Easter, that year, fell on April 1. 

P. 197. who was head of a college in those times. This is 



310 Notes to the Select Essays of Addison. 

probably to be understood of a Dr. Thomas Goodwin, who was 
President of Magdalen College, Oxford, during the Common- 
wealth. 

P. 209. that noble allegory. The story is told by Xenophon, 
who attributes it to Prodicus. It may be pleasantly and profitably 
looked up in the Bohn Xenophon, Memorabilia, II., i., 21-33. 

P. 213. as the finest author of all antiquity has said. The 
allusion is to Cicero, who, De Officiis, I., xxxii., 118, adduces 
Prodicus' story of Hercules, as told by Xenophon, and, a little fur- 
ther on, uses the language here translated by Addison. We quote 
Cicero's words, that the reader may consider the Spectator's ren- 
dering : — 

" Si igitur non poterit sive causas defensitare sive populum con- 
tionibus tenere sive bella gerere, ilia tamen praestare debebit, quae 
erunt in ipsius potestate, justitiam, fidem, liberalitatem, mode- 
stiam, temperantiam." 

In calling him "the finest author of all antiquity," Addison 
rates Cicero far more highly than modern opinion would sanction. 

P. 216. that clouded majesty -which Milton takes notice of. 
It will be easy to find this beautiful passage in Book IV. of Para- 
dise Lost. 

P. 224. Spectator, No. 489. Note the biographical allusions 
in this hymn. See pp. 239, 242, 243, this volume. 



NOTES 



MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON ADDISON. 



P. 228. the Laputan flapper. Allusions like this, and like 
that to Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia, on p. 236, should be under- 
stood from direct acquaintance with the books referred to. These 
are specimens of the reading that the young student of literature 
must command as the indispensable condition of intelligent progress. 

The political and literary history of England during the 
reigns of William III,, of Anne, and of George I. was the sub- 
ject to which Macaulay's studies had been especially devoted, and 
of which he was an acknowledged master. 

Theobald's. (Pronounce Tibbals.) If you will read Miss Strick- 
land's lives of Queens Elizabeth, Anne of Denmark, and Henrietta 
Maria, or Miss Aikin's Memoirs of the Reign of James I., you will 
know what Theobald's was. Good maps of England show Theo- 
bald's Park in Hertfordshire. If you have not time to read so 
much as is indicated above, at least look up, by means of the index, 
the allusions to Theobald's in INIiss Strickland's work. 

Steenkirks. See Macaulay's account of the battle of Steenkirk 
in Chap. XIX. of the History. 

P. 230. the Biographia Britannica. See Adams' Diet, of Eng. 
Lit., but especially Cowper's lines, " On observing some names of 
little note recorded in the Biographia Britannica." 

the Charter House. See Hare's Walks in London, and the 
article " Carthusians" in Eucyclo. Brit. 

P. 23L Magdalene. (Pronounce Maudlin.) 

P. 233. Charles Montague, who was then Chancellor of the 
Exchequer. The reader must bear in mind that it is precisely 

311 



312 Notes to Macaulay' s Essay on Addison. 

this period of English history that is treated by Macaulay in his 
History of England. It will be found very interesting to look up 
in this, by means of the index, the careers of such men as Monta- 
gue and Somers. On the constitution of the British Cabinet, and 
the functions and titles of its members, consult Albany de Fon- 
blanque's little book, How we are Governed. 

the Newdigate prize, or the Seatonian prize. In ]\Iacau- 
lay's essay on Moore's Life of Lord Byron is a short paragraph 
that fully explains the former of these allusions. The Seatonian 
prize was founded at Cambridge, by the Rev. Thomas Seaton, for 
the best English poem on a subject "to be most conducive to the 
honor of the Supreme Being and the recommendation of virtue." 

P. 235. a critical preface to the Georgics. This is well 
worth looking up and reading. The Georgics may be read in 
numerous English versions. The enterprising reader will find 
pleasure in comparing Dry den's couplets, Conington's prose, and 
the peculiarly charming metrical translation by Harriet Waters 
Preston. 

P. 236. Charles Montague and Lord Chancellor Somers. 
Do not fail to read the pages on these men in Chap. XX. of 
Macaulay's History. 

the Press had been controlled by censors. See a very in- 
teresting paragraph near the beginning of Chap. XXL of Macau- 
lay's History. 

P. 237. He had addressed the most polished, etc. These 
lines constitute an introduction to the Poem to His Majesty, men- 
tioned on p. 233. Find them on p. 3 of Vol. I. of the Bohn 
Addison. 

P. 238. lines written on the glasses of the Kit Cat Club. 
The Kit Cat Club is abundantly described on pp. 676-678 of Vol. 
VL of the Bohn Addison. Do not misinterpret the expression, 
" written on the glasses." 

P. 239. the ode, "How are thy servants blest, O Lord!" 
See p. 224 of this book. 

Book of Gold. It is with Venice, rather than with Genoa, 
that the Golden Book, the register or directory of patrician citi- 
zens, is chiefly associated. Yet the expression is sometimes gen- 
eralized, and made to apply, not only to the other Italian republics, 
as here by Macaulay, but also to other countries than Italy. The 



Notes to Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 313 

Lihro d'Oro of Venice was an actual book, and has its place in 
Venetian bibliography. The young student can look up the sub- 
ject in Edmund Flagg's Venice, the City of the Sea. The over- 
throw of the Kepublic of Venice by Napoleon, in 1797, was signal- 
ized by the burning of the Golden Book in effigy at the foot of a 
French liberty-tree erected in the Piazza of St. INIark. This is an 
interesting subject for a little historical research. See Brewer's 
Historic Note Book, under " Golden Book." 

P. 241. The temples of Paestum. You may read a pleasing 
chapter on this subject in John Addington Symonds's Sketches 
in Italy. 

P. 212. The great kingdom. See Chap. XXIII. of Macaulay's 
History. See, also, his essay on Mahon's History of the AVar of 
the Succession in Spain. Look up the subject in Freeman's His- 
torical Geography of Europe, Chap. XIL, Sec. 3. 

the Tory fox-hunter. See p. 149. 

P. 243. the Duke of Shrewsbury. See Chap. XXII. of the 
History. 

Eugene had already descended, etc. To understand the 
military and political events here referred to, see the histories of 
the War of the Spanish Succession. For a brief account, see 
Richard Lodge's History of Modern Europe, in the Students' 
Series, Chap. XIII., Sec. 24. 

P. 245. Manchester was deprived of the seals. The office 
from which Manchester was removed was that of " principal Secre- 
tary of State." 

P. 246. Godolphin had been appointed lord treasurer by Queen 
Anne in 1702. 

Newmarket. See Encyclo. Brit. See, also, very interesting 
accounts of Xewmai'ket and its dissipations, in Chaps. XXI. and 
XXIII. of Macaulay's History. 

P. 248. The Campaign. Do not fail to look up this poem in 
Addison's works ; it is interesting. Look up, also, in Johnson's 
Life of Addison, in the Lives of the English Poets, the passage 
referred to below. 

P. 249. the Lifeguardsman Shaw. Shaw, who had already 
attained notoriety as a pugilist, became famous by his prowess in 
the battle of Waterloo, where he fought as corporal in the Second 
Lifeguards. The story of his valor is variously told by the histo- 



314 Notes to Macaulay' s E^say on Addison. 

rians of the battle. It may be read in Siborne, p. 282, and in 
Gleig, p. 191. From a contemporary account of the battle we 
extract the following : " Shaw was fighting seven or eight hours, 
dealing destruction to all around him. At one time he was 
attacked by six of the French Imperial Guard, four of whom he 
killed, but at last fell by the remaining two. A comrade who w^as 
at his side a great part of the day, and who is the relater of this 
anecdote, noticed one particular cut, which drove through his oppo- 
nent's helmet, and with it cut nearly the whole of his face at the 
stroke." 

P. 250. Johnson's remarks on this passage should by all 
means be looked up and read in the class ; they convey an inter- 
esting lesson in criticism. 

P. 251. the advantage which, in rhetoric and poetry, the 
particular has over the general. See this principle more fully 
set forth by ]\Iacaulay in his Essay on Milton, near the begin- 
ning. 

Rosamond will be found well worth looking into, at least for 
the sake of its pleasing metrical effect. 

The Great Seal was given to Cow^per. (Pronounce Cooper.^ 
That is, Cowper was made " Lord Keeper." See Webster's Dic- 
tionary, under " Lord keeper." In Southey's Life of Cowper, the 
poet, you may trace the kinship of the two men. 

the Order of the Garter. See the story of the origin of this 
order, briefly told in Hume's History, and more fully discussed in 
Encyclo. Brit., article " Knighthood." 

P. 253. the queen had now quarrelled, etc. For a full 
account of this famous quarrel, you wdll of course go to Miss 
Strickland ; but all the histories give it. 

The Captain General. This was JNIarlborough's title. 

Sacheverell figures very largely at this period of English his- 
tory. You will find an interesting brief account of him in Macau- 
lay's essay on Lord Mahon's History of the War of the Succession 
in Spain. 

P. 254. During the interval, etc. See Samuel Rawson Gar- 
diner's Student's History of England, pp. 6G3 and 779. 

the Conduct of the Allies. Swift published this tract in 1712, 
in support of the Tory opposition to the war, which was ended 
the next year l:>y the peace of Utrecht. It is said that 11,000 



Notes to Macaulay^s Essay on Addison. 315 

copies of the Conduct of the Allies were sold within three months 
after its appearance. 

P. 255. governed by triennial parliaments. See Gardiner's 
Student's History, pp. 530, G61, 706. 

P. 256. " assented with civil leer." See note to p. 291. 

Mr. Softly's sonnet. See p. 114. 

Lady Q-p-t-s. See Spectator, No. 568. 

P. 257. Such excess was in that age, etc. On the convivial 
habits of the literary men of that time, see Thackeray's English 
Humorists in many passages, but especially in the accounts of 
Addison and Pope. 

P. 258. Hurd. This is Bishop Hurd, whose edition of Addi- 
son's works is often mentioned in these notes. 

the last lines which he traced. See a short account of 
Budgell, including the "lines," in Encyclo. Brit. The very pleas- 
ing Spectator, No. 116, p. 41 of this book, is by Budgell. 

has been called, after his name, Namby Pamby. The coin- 
ing of this epithet is ascribed, by Dr. Johnson, to Pope. The 
writer of the article on Ambrose Philips in the Encyclo. Brit, 
credits it to Henry Carey. See Kurd's Addison. 

P. 259. had tried to find the philosopher's stone. See, in 
Kurd's Addison, Vol. VI., p. 532, a pleasant bit of verse, in which 
Addison rallies his friend Steele on his erratic life. Notice in 
these lines an allusion to Steele's " religious treatise," which was 
humorously dedicated to the Pope. 

The spunging house is well known to readers of earlier Eng- 
lish fiction and biography. You may get a glimpse into a spunging 
house in Thackeray's History of Samuel Titmarsh and the Great 
Hoggarty Diamond, Chap. XI. The definition of spunging house 
in the Century Dictionary is peculiarly satisfactory. 

P. 260. the rival bulls in Virgil. See the third Georgic. 

P. 262. Periodical papers had during many years been 
published in London. The history of the newspaper is very 
interesting and may easily be looked up. By all means, read 
Macaulay's paragraphs on this subject in Chap. XXI. of his His- 
tory. 

gazetteer. The reference just made to Macaulay abundantly 
explains this word. 
'V/ill's and the Grecian. On the inns and' coffee-houses of the 



316 Notes to Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 

eighteenth century, see Knight, History of England, Vol. VII., 
Chap, v., and Chap. HI. of Macaulay's History. See, also, p. 271 
of this book. 

P. 263. Mr. Paul Pry. See Dictionary of Noted Names of 
Fiction, in Webster's Dictionary. 

To understand the Bickerstaff-Partridge affair, you must look it 
up in some life of Swift, as, e.g., in Sir Walter Scott's, end of 
Sec. II. It will be interesting to look up the original documents 
in the case in Scott's edition of Swift's works. Vol. VIII. " Swift is 
said to have taken the name Bickerstaft' from a smith's sign, and 
added that of Isaac, as a Christian appellation of uncommon 
occurrence. Yet it w^as said a living person was actually found 
who owned both names." Later in the century a dramatic writer 
of some note bore j^recisely this name. Thus there are three Isaac 
Bickdrstaffs, — Swift's pseudonym in the Partridge episode, "^he 
Tatler's pseudonym, and a real author. 

P. 264. Dry den. Selections from Dryden's prose have been 
edited for school use by C. D. Yonge. (Macmillan & Co.) 

Temple. Macaulay has an essay on this writer. 

the half French style of Horace "Walpole. See Macaulay's 
essay on Walpole's Letters to Sir Horace Mann. 

the half Latin style of Dr. Johnson. See Macaulay's two 
essays on Johnson. But, better, see Kasselas, the Kambler, or The 
Lives of the Poets. 

the half German jargon of the present day. Macaulay wrote 
this essay in 1843, when Carlyle was 48 years old, and had pro- 
duced some of his most characteristic works. 

the lines to Sir Godfrey Kneller. By all means, look up 
these lines in Hurd's Addison, I., p. 229. Consider if these lines 
are Jieroic couplets. 

Hudibras is accessible in an edition excellently annotated for 
students by Alfred Milnes. (Macmillan & Co.) 

P. 266. Bettesworth and Franc de Pompignan were victims 
of the satire, respectively, of Swift and Voltaire, and must be 
looked up in the lives of these writers, as, e.g., in Scott's Swift, and 
Parton's Voltaire. 

P. 267. Jeremy Collier had shamed the theatres, etc. See 
Macaulay's essay on the Comic Dramatists of the Restoration. 

The Tatlers named on this page are, except such as are included 



JVotes to Macaulay's Essay on Addison. 317 

in this volume, Nos. 155, 160; 250, 253, 256, 259, 262; 220; 
249. 

P. 268. There is one still better paper, etc. It has been sur- 
mised that ]\lacaulay meant Tatler, No. 257. By all means look 
up this paper, and consider why he should not have dared to 
name it. 

reigning by a disputed title. See Gardiner's Student's His- 
tory, p. 613, par. 18. 

the outbreaks in 1820 and in 1831. See Mackenzie's The 
Xineteenth Century, a History, and Gardiner's Student's History 
of England. 

P. 269. acting by the advice of Harley. This is explained 
by the article on Harley in the Encyclo. Brit. See under " Oxford." 

Sunderland was the first who fell. See in Encyclo. Brit. 
what was Sunderland's connection with Marlborough, and from 
what office he was dismissed in 1710. 

directed him to break his white staff; i.e. dismissed him 
from his office as Lord High Treasurer. 

had ventured to raise his eyes to a great lady. To be 
explained further on in the essay. 

P. 270. forcing Tory members on Whig corporations. By 
corporations are meant here the constituencies that elect members 
of parliament. 

P. 271. an imaginary Spectator. The young reader must not 
allow himself to imagine that in the papers of the Spectator the 
pronoun of the first person stands for Addison. Whoever may be 
the writer of any paper, it is always " the imaginary Spectator " 
that speaks. Spectator is the pseudonym of the collective authors 
of the papers. 

P. 273. The seven papers named near the bottom of the page 
are all in tins volume, except the Journal of the Retired Citizen, 
which is No. 317. 

P. 274. the stamp tax was imposed. See Spectator, No. 
445, p. 89 of this book. 

P. 275. Nestor Ironside is to the Guardian precisely what 
Isaac Bickerstaff is to the Tatler, and Mr. Spectator to the Spec- 
tator. He is the Guardian. The Miss Lizards are his wards ; 
hence the name of the paper. 

P. 278. Athalie, Saul, Cinna, — tragedies, respectively, by Ra- 
cine, Alfieri, Corneille. 



318 Notes to Macaulay's Essay on Addison, 

P. 279. the diminutive, crooked, sickly boy. See Johnson's 
Life of Pope. 

In the Spectator. See Spectator, No. 253. 

P. 280. a lampoon such as that on Atticus or that on 
Sporus. Both these lampoons occur in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuth- 
not, which serves as prologue to the Satires. Of the former we 
shall soon hear more. Both may readily be looked up, as, e.g., in 
the Globe edition of Pope's poetical works. 

to borrow Horace's imagery and his own. Horace's verse 
is, Ut neque calce lupus quemquam, neque dente petit hos. Sat. 11., 
1,55. 

Pope was bitterly mortified. See Pope's Letter to Addison, 
in Hurd's Addison, V., 410. 

P. 282. the queen was on her death-bed, etc. Be sure to 
look up Miss Strickland's account of the last days of Queen Anne. 

P. 284. a seat at the Board of Trade. See Fonblanque's 
How we are Governed. 

The paper on Lord Somers is Freeholder, No. 39. That on the 
Tory Fox-hunter is Xo. 22, given on p. 149 of this book. 

the admonition which Addison addressed to the Univer- 
sity is to be found in Freeholder, No. 33. 

P. 285. To appreciate fairly the estrangement of Pope and 
Addison, the student should read other accounts, in addition to 
what Macaulay says in this essay. It will be interesting to look 
up the subject in Thackeray's English Humorists, and to read 
Professor Minto's article on Pope in the Encyclo. Brit. Johnson's 
Life of Pope should by all means be examined. The lives of 
Addison and Pope in the Men of Letters Series will also be found 
interesting and instructive. 

P. 286. See what Johnson has to say about Akenside's recastings, 
and Pope's remodelling of the Dunciad. 

P. 289. The Satirist and The Age were slanderous newspapers 
published in London in Macaulay's day. 

P. 290. The lampoon on the Duke of Chandos is to be found 
in the Moral Essays, Epistle lY., beginning with line 99. The 
lampoon on Aaron Hill is probably contained in the four lines 
of the Dunciad, II., 295-298. The still fouler lampoon on Lady 
Mary Wortley Montague appears in the second of the Imita- 
tions oi Horace, where her husband is called " Avidien." 



Notes to Macaulai/s Essay on Addison. 319 

P. 291. the Earl of Warwick ^Yas the son of the Countess of 
Warwick, whom Addison married in 171G. 

the brilliant and energetic lines on Addison (Atticus) appear 
in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot : — 

" Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; 
Blest Avith each talent, and each art to please, 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease; 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne ; 
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts tliat caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, 
And without sneering teach the rest to sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend; 
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged ; 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
While wits and templars every sentence raise, 
And wonder witli a foolish face of praise : — 
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be? 
Who would not weep, if Attkus were he? " 

P. 292. a warm encomium on the translation of the Iliad. 

See F]-eehoIder, Xo. 40. 

P. 294. You may read the history of Holland House in Hare's 
Walks in London. Kead, also, the close of Macaulay's brief essay 
on Lord Holland. 

He owed his elevation, etc. See note 3, on p. 418 of Hurd's 
Addison. 

P. 295. Joseph Hume. See Encyclo. Brit, 
the house of Rich. See Hare's Walks in London, "Holland 
House." 

P. 296. The celebrated bill for limiting the number of 
peers. See the histories generally, as, e.g., Knight, Vol. VI., 
Chap. n. See, also, Encyclo. Brit., article "Peerage." 

P. 297. See Addison's letter to Craggs, in Hurd's Addison, Vol. 
VL, p. 523. 



320 Notes to Macaulay s Essay on Addisoyi. 

P. 298. The last moments of Addison. See Kurd's Addison, 
Vol. VI., p. 523. 

P. 299. See Addison's favorite psalm, as versified by himself, on 
p. 220 of this volume. 

the Jerusalem Chamber. See Hare's Walks in London, Vol. 
II., p. 561. 

P. 300. See Tickell's elegy on Addison, prefixed to Vol. I. of 
Hurd's edition of the works. 



Allyn ^ Bacon . . . Boston. 




Select 
Essays of Macaulay, 



Edited by 
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i2mo, cloth, 70 cts. ; boards, 50 cts. 

This selection comprises the essays on Milton, Bun- 
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shall be eminently interesting to read and study in 
class, and which shall serve as models of clear and 
vigorous writing. 

The subjects of the essays are such as to bring them 
into close relation with the study of general EngUsh 
Literature. 

The annotation is intended to serve as a guide and 
stimulus to research rather than as a substitute for 
research. The Jiotes therefore are few in number. 
Only when an allusion of Macaulay is decidedly diffi- 
cult to verify does the editor give the result of his 
own investigations. In all other cases he leads the 
pupil to make investigation for himself, believing that 
a good method in English, as in other studies, should 
leave as much free play as possible to the activity of 
the learner. 



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Hon. W. T. Harris, Commissioner of Education, 
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copy of the new book containing select essa)-s of 
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the fine hterar}" sense with which the work is edited. 
The introduction, although short, contains some of 
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Walter A. Edwards, Principal of High School, 
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